Heart in a Headlock
by paineAPPLE
Summary: [CH8 UP!] This is not a tale of some higher born thing torn from her precious land and ravished by pirates. No, this is a real story, a story about loss, about confusion, and about what you find when that is all you have left. JACKOC! NOT A MARYSUE!
1. Of Pirates and Tales

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… and yeah!

**Author Notes: **So the fabulous pineapple fiend has started up again, with a brand-new screen name and everything! WOOHOO! I know all you guys are pretty excited. Well, maybe not, but I am, so … : yeah! This story will probably end up being JackOC pairing, and yeah, well… it will be because that's my favorite thing in the world of fanfiction? Also! Everyone should review … or Jack won't get rum, and he will hate you all! x3

_When his life was ruined, his family killed, his farm destroyed, Job knelt down on the ground and yelled up to the heavens, "Why god? Why me?" and the thundering voice of God answered, "There's just something about you that pisses me off."  
** ...Stephen King.** _

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**H e a r t I n A H e a d l o c k**

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The Ocean is an amazing being. It lives, and it dies, everyday, nigh… every moment of everyday, with every crash of every wave. It is the only eternal thing in the world. It is greater than both the sun and the moon. It is both… it is time. It is everything one needs. She speaks, the ocean; she calls to every heart in every being on the earth. Some hear the call and hate the lilting voice of the sea, those are the ones who cling to their land-legs and pray for short storms; far worse though, some cannot hear the call at all, blind to what they really need; yet, some of us, mates, hear the song and yearn for her. Yearn for the spray on your face and for arms to rock us to sleep, just like a wee babe. "Ev'vryone 'ere bettah be of the third, aye? … an' if not, ye can find an exit at the next port.

"''at was 'ow it fell from 'is lips." Gibbs finished, his voice growling out the end of his tale. In one way or another, Gibbs desired to be in the spotlight almost as much as Jack; but, while Jack made himself appear pompous and obnoxious, Gibbs looked adorable and won the hearts of millions of old ladies everywhere, but in the end, the "infamous" Captain Jack Sparrow would be the one remembered, not his sweet first mate.

"W'at story was 'is again?" a grizzled-looking pirate said from his seat at the galley table. His voice was deep and full of sleep; Gibbs doubted he had heard even the first couple of sentences before dozing off. He worked all day, he deserved his rest; however, Gibbs didn't deserve the man's stupid questions.

"The White Widow, you sodding idiot!" The voice attached to those words didn't exactly fit one's expectations. The lad was barely past puberty, about 14 or 15 with a large straw hat on his head. He was seated beside Gibbs at the table. The boy, Mack, was by far the most ambitious of all the pirates. He told anyone, ANYONE, his dream, which was to become the ruler of all pirates. Jack was always highly amused the statement and would while laughing make the boy say it over and over until Mack got angry and left the older pirates alone. Despite his young age and bad habit of screaming insulting things at dangerous enemies, Mack was slowly but surely becoming a more important member of the crew aboard the Pearl. "You shouldn't sleep halfway through a story and then ask questions. " The boy looked ready to launch himself at the older, and stronger, opponent.

"Easy, Mack." The red-haired man on the boy's other side held him down in his chair with only a hand on his shoulder. It didn't take Rob any strength really, the boy obeyed him most of the time. "You should allow Gibbs to finish his story if you like it so much." The boy was reluctant to relax back into his chair again, but after a few moments of thought it seemed evident he agreed with his red-haired companion.

The attention once again switched to Gibbs. Appreciation was shown on all of his features. He really enjoyed the young boy who would risk himself to save an old man some displeasure, despite his odd habits. Clearing his throat, Gibbs once again made his way towards the story firmly imprinted in his memory. "Aye, now… 'ere I be? Of course, t'e White Widow, by far one of t'e most feared ships to sail the Main or the East'n Seas… an' a beauty, too. "

"Is she more beautiful den da Pearl?" one of the newer crew members asked, one that hadn't experience the throws of battle or the lashings of the sea.

Gibbs paused for a moment. He hadn't been expecting it, and he loved the Pearl very much. Deep down, the first mate didn't want to admit that any ship could be as beautiful as this one, but the storyteller in him wouldn't allow him to underestimate the beauty of the mythical White Widow. "Well, mate. As the Pearl be dark wit' sails and wood of t'e blackest black, the Widow is a gem on da sea wid shining cherry and oak sides and cleanest white sails ye e'er seen." Gibb's hands, as Jack's, moved with him as he said every word. His gesticulation was almost perfect. Each small gesture and twitch of his fingers created a new image. It was a stunning example of his talents in weaving tales. He would have been the perfect grandfather, and perhaps was, because everyone is young and spontaneous at one point in their lives… or, at least, all pirates are.

"She be truly amazin', sailin' from port tah port and takin' down 'em all. Everyone knew the infamous Cap'n Ghost Conurei throughout 'ese waters some twenty years ago…" After a seconds pause he added thoughtfully while scratching his chin, "And many still do."

The whole table was listening intently to him while he talked, except for one lightly snoring from across Gibb's seat. "No one could putta stop to da the White Widow, and soon those ninny-legged British soldiers began to drop their swords at the mere sight of 'er on the 'orizon." A few of the men grew voices at that comment. Their eyes were stretched out, and their tone appreciative. Gibbs nodded, pleased by their reaction. "Aye, the Widow was one of the great beauties of the sea, no doubt about it."

For a moment, he looked like he was going to finish there. Indeed, for a minute Mr. Gibbs, the first mate on the Pearl, had intended to leave the rest of the story off. After all, the tale was a long one to tell. His attention fell to the bottom of his empty mug. This would normally signal the end, but something within him told him it wasn't right to cut it off there. A few of the men looked about to stand up when his attention was once again turned to the table. "No one really understands why it 'appened to 'er."

Everyone's eyes were on Gibbs. It was rare when the old man could outlast his rum, but they found themselves all the more interested because of that fact. "W'at 'appened to her, Gibbs?"

They had seen the bait, and they had taken it. That was all the invitation that Gibbs needed to start up again. He scooted closer to the center of the table, his voice reached but a whisper and still the crew all could hear. Everyone at the table desired an explanation. "After fifteen years o' pillagin' town after town the White Widow lost her Cap'n, and not to death or anythin' or the sort either. 'E just up and left to go settle with a gel 'e 'ad left 'ome with 'is kids about ten years 'fore. But, 'e left as any sensible man would --- rich. 'E 'ad more booty than most any of us could even imagine. Still, 'e loved 'is great ship very much and knew that if 'e didn't choose the next Cap'n a great strife would be caused upon his exit. So, 'e left the Widow to 'is first mate. 'Is first mate 'appened to be a little slip of a gel that was not a day over twenty two. A few challenged 'er for the roll, but the Captain 'ad knew 'er strength of heart, she struck them all down without much effort an' den they all 'ad a nice little visit to Davy Jones."

The men around him chuckled. They were naught but mere pirates, after all. "T'at doesn't sound that 'orible, Mr. Gibbs. I think you're just too long without pleasurable company and 'old distaste for women." Someone barked jokingly from Gibb's right. The old badger looked over trying to put a face with the words, but none would confess.

"If it doesn't sound bad den it probably's not finished, aye?" was his only answer to the joke. "Now, as I was saying, she took control of the ship and went around to t'e familiar ports making a name for 'erself. Cap'n Lou Rivera." Around the table a few "aww"ed in recognition. They had probably heard of her some ten years past, pillaging her little black heart out all throughout the Spanish Main.

"Then, after she 'ad her full of the Main, she picked up ship and went ta Singapore. You still heard o' the White Widow, though, beating the shit out o' the East India Company at every turn. The ship and 'er crew prospered; she seemed unmatchable even to the blood-thirsty inhabitants of the East." His face fell, yet he tried to keep all melancholy feelings to himself. He didn't want to ruin it, after all. "Then, suddenly, about three years back, the ship was found off a small abandoned island in the Main not to far from Nassau. She was smoking as if someone 'ad tried to torch 'er and not a soul aboard was alive. Somehow, the White Widow 'ad become a ghost ship. Yet, no one could find the beautiful Captain Lou Rivera onboard. No one knows what happened to 'er, but surely, it must have been death for she 'asn't been seen or 'eard from since." There was silence, every one wanted more. They wanted to take the mystery out of the mystery, because magic and superstition were only ignorance in the eyes of the shrewd man around the table, that is, except for Gibbs.

"Aye, I am sure the White Widow made more than a couple the night every member of her crew was murdered." The storyteller chuckled darkly, but none of his comrades joined in with him. Underneath him, the Pearl groaned. He had somehow forgotten the storm while he was telling his tale. The whole boat rocked more violently than usual, but he didn't mind it, after all, Gibbs was nothing but an old seadog. Anamaria and Jack were still outside double checking the ropes. He had been sent in to, well, Gibbs still wasn't too sure about why his Captain had told him, but Gibbs wasn't about to object to a dry room and mug full of rum.

"W'at do ye think 'appened, Mr. Gibbs!" Mack, as-per-usual, was excited about anything mysterious and/or creepy. His young body was nearly bouncing around the room, his head full of possibilities.

"Anything, lad, could 'ave 'appened, but I do think I know what attributed to it!" He looked around a second to make sure that Anamaria wasn't hidden somewhere and going to give him an earful. "… Bad luck, tis bad luck to 'ave just aboard a ship, imagine what luck you would 'ave after she was captaining for ten years. It was Captain Lou Rivera that sent 'er ship to the grave." His voice held the dark tone. He was serious, and it, in some creepy way, was sort of endearing to the other men at the table.

"Dis again, Mr. Gibbs!" The door knob was still in Anamaria's tanned hand from entering the galley. What woman, really deep down, didn't despise Gibb's sexist splurges. Ana just happened to be fortunate enough to tell him so… and so she did, "I'm just as good luck as any man and any other woman could be just as good as me, savvy?" Her voice growled out as she neared his seat.

Jack Sparrow… (Excuse me!) Captain Jack Sparrow entered the room behind Anamaria. His coat and hat were both wet, and the kohl eyeliner had left dark lines down his cheeks. He swaggered himself over to the apparent battle of the sexes before him. Mack quickly jumped up to offer his Captain a chair. The pirate captain fell down into the chair, the water from his clothes falling on both Gibbs and the red-haired Shanks. Jack looked over and with a jaunty smile wordlessly voiced his appreciation. A large mug was set down in front of him moments later by the boy. Brown-nosing, the crew had learned, was Mack's specialty. He swallowed half of the liquid down before coming back up for air. Jack probably could have gone longer, but a shout from behind him had startled him from his blissful alcohol. Glancing behind him, it took Jack only a few moments to assess the situation. Anamaria looking scary and Gibbs looking ready to pull some old, rum-induced, man-judo on her made him do it a little quicker than he would have. His eyebrow slowly rose and then finally his roaming eyes settled in the general direction of Anamaria's hand. Pulling his upper　lip back in distaste, the turned back around and settled into his chair.

"She's right, man." Jack voice cut off the two practically bickering in his ear. He was lazily inspecting his nails, in a rather girlish, but studly, fashion. "It's not good form to be talkin' 'gainst women. I mean…" He paused trying to find a functional example of female Good Luck. "Lizzie! She married the eunuch and they are quiet peachy, aye?" He narrowed his eyes at the rum and took it into his hand once again. Bringing it too his lips he relished in the silence around him and the burn of good, free rum.

"…but Cap'n." Mack's voice was tentative as he questioned his captain's logic. Captain Jack was the only person Mack was ever tentative for, "wasn't Miss.Swann also 'eld captive by undead pirates, marooned on an island, and backhanded multiple times before that?" Everyone on the Black Pearl knew the first grand adventure of Captain Jack Sparrow by heart, it was a requirement.

The question didn't even faze Jack. He looked at Mack with one of his animated eyebrows raised and with a waggle of his fingers began once more to turn words into a hypnotist's act. "Doesn't that make the gel all the more lucky? And we should be more thankful, she took the whelp off our 'ands!" He made scooping motion as if Will could actually fit inside his hands. "The last thing we need is another eunuch aboard the Pearl, aye, Anamaria?" He eyed the sailors across the table accusatorily. They in turn, looked at one another passing the blame down the row.

Anamaria grinned down at Jack from over his shoulder in thanks, but he paid no mind to the sign. She was a wonderful pirate, and an asset to the ship, but, all in all, dotting the "i"s and crossing the "t"s – boring. It had been too long since his last incident and he was once again ready to open the sails of the Pearl to danger and liquor and scantily clad women. Maybe, though, this one could be minus one creepy island and one creepy old pirate with an abnormally large pirate hat… he had really had enough of those. A frown stretched from the Captain of the Pearl's lips to his barely kohl rimmed eyes as he thought lightly scratching his hair covered chin. He made a mental note never to think about Barbossa… ever.

As his men and woman conversed pleasantly over rum and grilled fish, Jack relaxed with his rum his thoughts of the next day which was steadily gaining on him. He would have to give a heading soon if he wanted to go after his next big adventure, but to know where he was to go he first needed to know find where he was going. The Pearl gave another great lurch and the table shifted slightly. It was getting choppier outside. Still, with the anchor dropped and the waves outside the great ship, the crew was content; and with the thought of Tortuga on the horizon and the appointment Jack had there, the captain was… Things weren't good aboard the Black Pearl, they were perfect.

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**A/N: **That's it for the first bit… if you want more then just comment and it will be up in no time. I already have the first chapter written, so it all depends on your reviews ladies and gentlemen! This is the end now… PAINEAPPLE OUT!

paineAPPLE


	2. Foreshadowing enter stage right!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Pirates of the Caribbean or Rihanna's lyrics for her song "Unfaithful" I just sort of borrowed them. … Yeah, borrowed. Heh… definitely! cackle no, seriously, don't sue me. I will cry and Jack won't like you! GLARE!

**Author Note:** zomg, no one reviewed. ;; but I was alerted by someone and that made me feel compassion, but I'm serious, this time… NO REVIEWS NO THIRD CHAPTER! So keep that in mind when you are about to click out of the screen next time, Savvy! Also, I apologize if this chapter doesn't have enough Jack in it, but… next chapter will have more, probably.. most likely… if you review! Thanks guys.

**Quote:** "_You can drag a horticulture, but you can't make her think." _**_Dorothy Parker_**

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**H e a r t In A H e a d l o c k**

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Tortuga was as rowdy as ever, even with the "infamous" Captain Jack Sparrow miles out at sea. Tortuga probably didn't even feel the loss of her prodigal son. After all, she was the only woman Jack ever visited for more than one night. By all accounts, she was the one in charge of so many lives. Tortuga was the Mistress of every miscreant's soul.

Very much like the sea, Tortuga was ever changing. She calls to one with waves of sensation and thrill but soon you become cold are left alone to sink into inky blackness. The only thing that kept every man, and possibly a few women, as well, pleased was the sweet taste of over-indulgence that was what bars, and whorehouses, and the sleazy inns were for. But, despite the butchered land and the hard soil of Tortuga, one could still find beauty and a nightingale's song.

"W'at do ye mean she's not feelin' up to it, gel?" Steven McCook's voice bellowed across the entire tavern, angry enough to scare more than a few drunken men sitting at the bar and convincing them to pass out someplace else that night. Most of the dimly lit business paid no mind to the shout of the bartender and owner. After all, Steven was known for being an angry man. Not to mention that he wasn't the only man screaming, this was Tortuga after all… men screaming was just part of the package.

Coral, the most kind-hearted and young of the dancers at the Gilded Garters, had been sent to persuade Steven to cancel tonight's act. So, Coral still stood in front of him in a dress of pink ruffles and silk her eyes innocent and wide. A few men would say she was the best part of any of the acts, but those men would also be pedophiles, still, in Tortuga, pedophiles deserved entertainment too. Coral was far older than she looked, but when you looked like you were fifteen years old at the very most, that wasn't saying too much. Even Coral's innocence wasn't enough to deter Steven, who normally put himself up on a pedestal and acted as the girl's older brother, from his money-filled goal.

"Watch de bar!" He called over his shoulder at one of the more respected bartending wenches. He tore across the room, paying no mind to shouts of hello or questions of tonight's act. He had soon vanished behind the door that led to the girls dressing rooms, but the bar carried on without him just fine, no one risking something stupid, because everyone wanted to see the act coming up. In a place where the alcohol tasted like crap and the wenches weren't fond of being fondled, the act was all the establishment had, but when E'Louene Vera was the headliner, the act was enough.

Ellie had known it wouldn't work, even despite all of the girl's assurance that Steven wouldn't force her out on the stage tonight. Steven would allow his golden one only a day off when the room was empty of customers, but after that night she wouldn't be asked back. Popularity was how you kept your job at the Gilded Garters. Therefore, the customer was key; key to everything she needed before she left this hell hole. The songstress of the Gilded Garter's head's pounding once again brought itself to the front of her mind. She watched herself in the makeup mirror as she slumped forward and messaged her temples. Then, her vision flicked down to the powder puff waiting to be used in front of her, and she lost herself to a land of indifference waiting for Steven to appear behind her and give her an earful.

Fire loomed right off the edge of her mind; it had for years dominated all of her dreams and searing pain echoed there in all of her silence moments of inner reflection. Sometimes, in these darker moments within herself, Ellie wished to loose herself in the fire just as it seemed to make her loose everything she cared for… with a sudden shriek she was brought back to her crowded dressing room.

"Queen!" He screamed from outside her door. Lillith, the beautiful Jamaican dancer standing over her shoulder, hissed at the sound of Steven's voice. She liked his least out of all of the females, because they had such a past between them. So she never had and never would turn down an opportunity to be angry at him. Despite that small fact, Ellie still appreciated the notion of sympathy form the younger woman. She liked to think that these four girls were her family and their protectiveness made her head feel a little better.

Steven threw open the door. Every eye on the room went between him and Ellie. She didn't look him in the eye, settling on glaring at him through the mirror in front of her. He growled at the other girls in the room and for a instance caution flickered through every cell in her body. Her shoulders stiffened, her jaw clenched, her hand dropping to her side ready to pull out a weapon if necessary, but as soon as she had prepared herself the normal Steven had returned. His glare fixed on the mass of brown waves that was the back of her head. "Strumpet, get ye arse up and onto the stage. I dun pay ye ta sit 'round all night while customers be waitin' for ye service, savvy?" The words were softer than they could have been, but she still stiffened at the harshness beneath them. Perhaps, Steven McCook had thought he had caught this Queen to be his… if so, he was as stupid as any man out in the stands. He couldn't move her with a few rough phrases.

E'Louene turned her head showing the owner of the Gilded Garters her profile, shooting him a dirty look before turning back to her mirror. The grey-green eyes that captured the hearts of many of blokes every night scrutinized him as he stood motionless behind her waiting for words. She could only oblige him. "Last time I checked, McCook, ye weren't payin' me 'nough to call me any name other than the one my mother gave me." Her voice was soft but had a threatening ring to it. Everyman in Tortuga knew she wasn't the type of woman to mess with and it unnerved the untamable nightingale that Steven thought he had beaten out her cold shoulder.

He frowned at her but the distaste only showed for a second. Soon an overconfident smirk was once again masking any kindness from her. His voice quipped back sooner than her own had; some would have attributed his quickness to wit, but Ellie liked to pin it on ignorance. "Say whatever you want, Vera! You are still expected out there on the stage in five minutes!" He turned, fuming, ready to stalk off back to his bar. He wouldn't have stopped for Ellie; after all, currently, they were on rather bad terms, but as he reached the threshold a raspy voice echoed through the dressing room.

Blaze was by all accounts the unofficial leader of the quintet of dancers that called themselves the Gartered Girls. They were half of the most famous group in Tortuga, the other half being the vocals, E'Louene, with a few, less-strenuous dance-moves. Their act brought men to port, not to mention the pub. It was common knowledge to the girls and very possibly the rest of the town that Steven had a thing for the almost constantly red-clad temptress. She, however, would have nothing to do with him, other than getting paid for her dancing. "I could substitute for her tonight, Steve. I doubt the men would mind a slight change in schedule after I show my garter off a little."

Turning halfway around the middle-aged owner of the tavern had visibly softened at the offer, but there was something dangerous in his eye that made Ellie know the offer was all for naught. Still, something inside the thirty-something year old woman crumbled. She and Blaze had been friends for two and a half years know but still, the brunette shocked her to the heart. Turning in her chair to actually look Blaze in the eye, after all, she deserved it, Ellie couldn't find words of thanks that could assume the place of the emotions streaming through her. Blaze didn't need the verbal notation though; she saw everything there in Ellie's grey-green eyes. Steven's voice broke their stream of thought, as they both turned their attention on him. "Perhaps you could Blaze, but, I fear, the men love our little Queen too much to even take such a lovely double in her stead." His voice was slow and even carefully stepping over each of the girl's feelings, becoming once again the man that Ellie almost respected. The door shut behind him and that was that…

"Nice try, Ellie." The nickname had an unnatural bite to it that made E'Louene's fingers twitch. She would strangle the girl soon if she didn't learn to keep her head in her own business. "But, unfortunately, for you that is, even you have to work for your money. Try again in a few weeks though, he might start just giving it to you, eh? Or maybe he'll just give you a quick shot to the temple. Honestly, I'm rooting for the later…" The red-head slithered from the shadows. Her green dress was more low-cut than anything else Steven bought. Coral, who had come back during Blaze's speech, turned her nose up at the very sight of such debauchery. She was a respectable girl; Ellie took pride in the fact that she had groomed her to become as such.

Blaze, finally overcoming the shock of being turned down by Steven McCook, growled out at Esmeralda. "Did anyone ask you, Izzie?" The false nickname had a bite to it just as the "Ellie" before it had. For a moment, Louene doubted if she could have made a more insulting quip, then she remembered she could have decked the girl. They were a family, the four dancers and their Queen, Esmeralda was the scorned middle-child that hated everything but power. She had been eyeing Ellie's job long before any of them started to notice.

With a huff she raised her nose at everyone in the room. When would she learn that she was against the wrong pack of women and to back the hell off. Something painful took over her features before false amusement were forced to her eyes. "No, I just thought I would offer some advice. After all, I understand that you can become easily intimidated by someone like me." All of them were ready to throw some nasty words back in the girls face, but Aoi beat them all to it.

"We are only intimidated by the amount of payment it would take to gain such advice, mate." There was something distinctly different about the petite, yet perfectly proportioned, Japanese girl sitting a bit away from the others. She had long raven tresses that humidity tamed into soft waves. Her black eyeliner around equally dark eyes could catch your attention from around the room. Everyone thought that after the red garter stepped down from the leadership of the girls, Aoi would take over, but no one said anything, after all, Blaze would continue to be young for a few more years. "We all have heard the price you lift your skirt for…" A slow grin spread her teeth across her white teeth and exposed a K-9.

Lillith, who was the muscle of the group, couldn't keep her mouth shut if a fight was going on. She wasn't about to give the shrewd red-headed dancer a chance to twist Aoi's words. "By the stars, it is true!" She exclaimed pleased. "and I've also heard that your price lowers everyday, not enough takers?" With a perverse squeeze of her own cleavage, Lillith was done, but Esmeralda was finished. With a huff she pushed past Coral, threw over a lamp, and was gone from sight.

For a moment they all just watched the door which the redhead had exited. Then Coral erupted through the silence, "She pushed me!" The attention of everyone else rested on the blonde for a moment before the room echoed with laughter. Ellie could only wonder, once they began to help her prepare for her act tonight, how she had gotten so lucky to end up here…

The music cued little less than five minutes later, and by some miraculous hand of fate, Louene was actually through preening in time to toss her body through red velvet curtains. The audience, mostly men with ever chair full in the whole room, howled sickeningly at the sight of her. Queen spun herself a few times for their viewing pleasure. Her long brown hair cascading down past her bare shoulders and half-exposed back rippled as she finished her twirls. The dress she was wearing tonight was one of the more expensive ones the tavern had in its possession. It was a delightful dust, cream, light gold color that Louene felt some attraction to… after all what queen didn't love gold. It had a corseted torso that made cleavage show up she never knew she even had, and its skirt was full of ruffles, lace, and cute fluff. Her petticoats, though, were a shocking black, as were her gloves.

The dresses were one of the reasons so many men showed up at the Gilded Garters. Every dress, after being bought and tapered down to fit one of the dancers or the queen, had a huge slit cut into it that went up to the hip. Then, the many layers of ruffles that went under were curled up and tapered. It was one of Steve's marketing plans, and it did make the men come back. Tonight, to match her dress, a pale gold-colored garter had been chosen by Aoi for tonight.

"'ello, Gents!" E'Louene's voice lighter than it normally was in person. Her tone kind and was almost motherly for the drunks and pirates around her. The girls never really understood why their fearless leader always greeted the men before her song, but they seemed to enjoy it and Ellie did as well, so it was just another thing left unsaid. "I got something special for all of yo---ou," she pointed out towards the crowd. "tonight! I hope you like it!" She took a few steps back to center stage and fell into the starting position.

Her hands were over her head, fully extended, but relaxed, like a cobra ready to strike. Her left leg was jutted out through the crack in her dress, the garter exposed to the whole room. It was rather like a signature position, and no matter how hard Esmeralda tried she couldn't pull the move off and receive the same fanfare. The music began to wind around the room. Leading everyone to a beautiful corner of hell, a place where a temptress could lift her voice. Her tongue wet her lips, and every man in the audience was silent in wonder. Slowly, her hands began to fall down her body, resting on every curve as she entertained herself as much as she did the audience. "Story of my life, searchin' for da right, but it keeps avoiding me!"

Silence, other than the light piano in the background, took the room as she sucked in a breath. Her feet pushed her slowly, slinking towards the front of the stage with the slow beat of the music. "…sorrow in my soul, 'cause it seems like wrong, really likes my company." Her body saucily weaved with her voice, none of the motions getting to intricate, though, just light swaying. Her hand went down her side, resting on her hip. The men continued to only stare; it wasn't rare for Queen to deliver more than just pub songs, but the soul in each syllable even left the usual catcallers mute.

"He's more than a man, and this is more than love, the reason that the sky is blue!" Her voice echoed as she took another breath, these short groups of song leaving the men wanting more. Her back was arched forward a little, her knees beneath. Her eyes resting on the ceiling in a silent prayer for help from the heavens. She was a remarkable actress and could have easily held her own in a troupe, but most of them were paid too little for the profession to interest Ellie. "… the clouds are rolling in, because I'm gone again, and to him I just can't be true!" Her feet walked her to the side of the stage, hips dipping seductively for the benefit of the men.

She reached the banister of the side stairs that led to the pit of men below her. She always lost herself to them during the act sometime or another; despite the fact that Steven didn't approve, he called it "unsafe." They were harder to please if she didn't, though, and that was why she was here, wasn't it? She was a slave to these men, men that weren't worth even a pinch of salt. A gentleman caught her eye, he was making sickening motions with his hands. Relief strummed through her, no, she wasn't a slave, and she never would allow herself to be. Her head lifted and without missing a beat in the music she began again. "And I know that he knows I'm unfaithful, and it kills him inside, to know that I am happy with some other guy…" She lowered herself down a step on the stairs, her body clinging to the banister. Sadness that looked so real very few would have denied her a shoulder to cry on echoed from her. "…I can see him dying."

A brown curl fell in front of her face and her jade-colored eyes swept over the room with a needing look; Catcalls went up. Inside, Louene grinned. Men were far too easy to please. Her restricted torso peeked over the railing and her spread legs swayed at the hips, enticing more screams. The music doubled back, the piano flooding in and taking over all of her senses. She lost conscious thought as she began again, "I dun wanna do this anymore, I dun wanna be the reason why, Everytime I walk out the door, I see 'im die a little more inside, I dun wanna 'urt 'im anymore, I dun wanna take away 'is life, I dun wanna be... a murdera."

She was level with drunks and pirates. Pain and past actions led her to sympathize with them, until they tried to touch her, and then she lost everything she felt. She began an Ice Queen once more. Her steps crisscrossed and a violin was added into the stream of music. It was beautiful and allowed her dancing to become a little more erratic. Her hands moved in a flurry and her legs guided her through the hypnotist's act. Her hand outstretched to one chap and his lifted in a move to catch her, but with a quick turn and dizzy steps towards another individual she was safe. Ellie lived on edge when she was in the pit, but her expression never faltered, and she never looked uneasy. The actress pulled crowds all over, because of that lack of fear and her acceptance of the brainless men around her. "I feel it in the air, as I'm doing my hair, preparing for another date, a kiss up on my cheek, he's here reluctantly, as if I'm gonna be out late." E'Louene slid herself into some guy's lap, who looked sober and slightly decent.

His hand's kept to his sides, obviously, he had heard about her not so sugar-covered history with touchy men. She twisted in his lap, actually looking him over. Not the best she had seen, but he definitely got a passing mark. He had short-cropped black hair. It looked thick. Crossing one leg slowly over the other, her dress ruffling out of the way to expose both of them, she leaned her side into the man's chest. "I say I won't be long, just 'anging with the girls, a lie I didn't 'ave tah tell, because we both know, where I'm about to go, an' we know it very well." She laid her head down in the crook of her current affection's neck. The hand that wasn't wrapped around his neck racking her fingers through his hair, was roaming up his chest. She felt something touch the small of her back. It was his hand. Her hand stopped its motions resting on his shoulder. With a harsh shove, she pushed herself off of the guy and swayed herself tauntingly before him and his companions. "Cause I know that 'e knows I'm unfaithful, and it kills 'im inside, to know that I am 'appy with some other guy, I can see 'im dying." She was through here, ready to stalk off to new prey, but the grin on the guy's face made her turn back around.

She locked eyes with him. The kohl lining made them look more menacing than usual. Her finger itched to reach into her vest and smear blood, but she wasn't wearing a vest and she had sworn away that life a long time ago. So, she just gave him her signature glare that could make even seasoned sailors piss their pants. "I dun wanna do this anymore, I dun wanna be the reason why, Everytime I walk out the door, I see 'im die a little more inside, I dun wanna 'urt 'im anymore, I dun wanna take away 'is life, I dun wanna be... a murdera." She had already left him and was weaving her way back towards the stage. The untamable E'Louene Vera was back as were the drooling men. She lifted her skirts in her hands and ruffled them enticingly towards the men around her. Her chest heaved naturally, pressing against the lace top of the dress making the large pearls dangling over her bosom rise and fall.

It was odd that she of all women would become the object of so many men's affections. She was supposed to be the shadow-clad figure that haunted your dreams, not the temptress riding you in them. Still, she was here, her lips opened again continuing on with her song of regret. "Our Love... 'is trust, I might as well take a gun and put it to 'is 'ead." She was on the nearest guy faster than he could have expected, after all the whole song before his had been a lazy seduction. Nimble fingers pulled his gun from the leather belt around his waist. It was pointed at his head. The whole room went silent, even the piano player. She cocked it… everything was dead. Her eyes went to the bar and green locked with a muddy brown pair. Steven got the message. "…get it over with, I don't wanna do this anymore." She was in front of the stage. Stepping near the crotch of a man occupying the table she, with two steps, was standing on top of it. "Oooohhh…anymore."

The chorus rang out for the final time, her dance steps sharp, solid, and dangerous. For her and the men around the table, if she fell from her perch on the table it would hurt both of them. "I dun wanna do this anymore, I dun wanna be the reason why, Everytime I walk out the door, I see 'im die a little more inside, I dun wanna 'urt 'im anymore, I dun wanna take away 'is life, I dun wanna be... a murdera." She never wanted the song to die. She felt alive when she had her mouth open and sound was the only thing that mattered. She tried to hold onto the last note, but it just worked her voice until it was husky and made her lungs burn.

The music began to fade, but Ellie wasn't done with the song yet, with a quick switch of her hips, and a lot of pain from her shoes, the girl was back to her feet on the stage. She pulled all of her muscles taunt and while swaying her hips began to descend towards the floor. Everyone howled who could talk, probably even the black-haired man from earlier, she thought with a smile. She added impromptu, "I'm just too much like the sea for you to 'andle… and stay with me." Her voice reached a Mariah Carey-esque octave before dropping down. It echoed through the heart of every man before drifting away entirely.

She opened her eyes, unsure of when she had closed them. She broke into a cheesy grin as almost every man in the room just stared up at her, mouth agape. She never got over doing that, and deep down something felt proud for her abilities. After all, as Steven had said a time or two, she was lucky to have her talents or else she would be selling other talents, and he was right; there wasn't that many things a girl could do in a time like this to put food in her mouth. The room, now realizing that she was done for the night, exploded. That is the only way to put it. People jumped, literally, from their seats, clapped, screamed, and attempted to mob the stage. However, Steven McCook was there, walking up the side stairs, to get to the queen of the Gilded Garters and ensure her safety from her fans. "Sorry, mates! Ol' Steve says it's time for my beddy-bye. So, you all be good, keep a stiff uppperlip, I'll be back soon enough with the other girls on Saturday!" Most howled with glee, some laughed, but deep down none of them were happy she was leaving; however, she did, Steven following her out behind the velvet curtain.

She hadn't been safely from the eye of drunks and worse for five seconds before Steven opened his decidedly big trap, "What do you think you were pulling out there, gel?" She ignored him off her shoes as she walked towards the candle on her dressing table. The room was vacant except for the two of them, and Ellie was grateful for the privacy. Sometimes the headliner liked not to always be putting on a show. She pulled three or four pins out of her hair and shook it.

"Answer me." She hadn't been paying attention to the salt-and-pepper-haired man behind her, and she wished she would have. He was very close to her back and she didn't have a clear view of his hands in the mirror anymore, just to his elbow.

"I wasn't pulling anythin', mate." She said with a playful smile. "Just pushin' out the show you pay me tah put on…" Bitterness seeped into her voice, but her expression was as innocent as ever. "Keeping everyone on their toes and all that, neh?"

He scoffed at her innocence, before letting cruel words flee his lips, "Excuse me if I don't believe a murderess." Her green eyes darkened in warning. He wasn't going to say anymore though. He turned and left; left a stabbing pain in her chest. She hated him and realized at that moment that she should have left months ago. Her family here wasn't worth exposure. Making a promise on the sound of the door shutting, she swore to shut this chapter of her life.

Two days out from Tortuga, the Black Pearl skimmed against the black ocean. The night was a beautiful one and Jack was determined not to stop until he reached port. He had been too long without his beloved rum and leading lady, Tortuga. The deck was still active, even during the middle of the night; Jack had seen to giving some of them day shifts and some of them night shifts. After all, he enjoyed his crew and didn't want them all pissed off because they didn't sleep enough. He had some bad experiences with pissed off members of his crew and small islands. He frowned, his nose twitching a bit, at the very idea.

The helm's wood was soft and relaxed under his fingers. He knew the Pearl was excited about going back to Tortuga; the old girl, Jack liked to think anyway, considered that her home now that the scary cursed island was rather out of commission. He let gold teeth show to the darkness in silent amusement. "Cap'n?" a young voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"Aye, Mack?" He peered down his nose at the small, straw-hat wearing bow clearly wondering why he even had the kid aboard the Pearl.

"I was just worrying why you are in such a rush to make it to Tortuga, Cap'n" He said voice meek. He wasn't questioning his captain's methods merely curious as to his motivations. However, Jack failed to see the difference. He patted the boy on the head, turned him around with awkwardly overactive fingers, and pushed him away from himself. "Because, lad. I desire us to arrive in Tortuga by the sixth day of the week, and I be Captain, therefore, we all will be getting' to Tortuga 'fore then, Savvy?" The little boy squeaked out that he understood and went back to his duties. He had an appointment with one of the more gruesome members of the port's population, yet, oddly enough, he was looking forward to it.

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**A/N: **okay… yeah, that's it for the second chapter. I hope you enjoyed it, and it you did… you should leave a review. After all, nothing make's a craftsman more pleased than to hear his work is appreciated and all that, neh? 


	3. crossing the RUBICON

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… and yeah!

**Author Notes: **I was sad when this ended, like really sad. So I started the story back up while utterly inspired by the BEAUTIFUL PotC3:awe. I will definitely keep this now that I am out of high school and probably going to be very lonely when I go off to college in California --- like over fifteen hundred miles away. Crazy, but beautiful at the same time. Here I come crew team -- and Jack! This chapter is largely me trying to get back into the groove of this story. Sorry if everything is moving too slowly for everyone, but I am used to writing novels not short fiction. Long is sort of who I am --- heheh.

_What vexes all men?_ _**A woman.**_

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**H e a r t I n AH e a d l o c k**

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Dark wood, of any sort other than Black Palm, has always been rather hard to find in the Main, and even harder to find on Tortuga, which by all accounts is the truly crude as far as human evolution goes. It is a precipice of debauchery, a citadel for all things wicked, and thus, cares very little for the kind of wood that things are made out of. There was, in fact, only one shop made entirely out of ebony -- or with any at all -- on the entire island. They had, dozens of years ago, great trunks of dark cypress sent over from the marshes of the New World. Those same manufactures had also, conscious of the small settlement's wanton nature, built far away from the port towards what is referred to as the "polite" Tortuga. It did little good, building so far away, because as the world grew so did the number of pirates which meant the settlement did as well until the port part of the city was on the shop's doorstep.

As the area around the dark wood became more and more cheaply manufactured; when the fine glass from France had a man tossed through it; and after a whorehouse was built next door, the quality of stuff and suppliers for those stuffs fluctuated until the building was barely distinguishable from any of it's next-door neighbors. It became just another part of the busty maid that is Tortuga, unimportant until crossed or desperately needed. And so we find the shop today, desperately needed. It's window's full of dust and grime, more grime than any sailor could ever find in the galley of any ship. It was a disgustingly unclean part of a disgustingly unclean town in our disgustingly unclean world, but that grime and goop made it no less vital to the inhabitants of this chaotic universe.

-- it was still needed. Needed by a pirate. A pirate that was more than just any old pirate. He, a pirate lord, was destined to be the most feared pirate in the Spanish Main, no -- the world. We all know of which pirate I speak, Captain Jack Sparrow of the Black Pearl, infamous, glorious, and… bearded. This was his town, his berth, and so it isn't unusual that he would know the location of such a well-hidden commodity. Hell, if anyone would know of it's existence it would bloody be Jack, creepy establishments that sold odd things located next to whorehouses were one of his specialties.

With the certain swagger that does completely encompass all things Sparrow he paraded down the small, dirt-covered street looking for the darkly-wooded shop. You could tell he was looking for something: his head, all of the hair swinging from one side to the other, bobbled and, of course, by his gesticulation. Despite the odd display, no one paid him any mind; although, I am sure it would have been quite amusing, just watching his movements for a while and attempt to piece together reason for all of their extravagance. The way his eyes darted confidently yet inquisitively from one building to the next, the chime of ornaments in his hair clinking together with every exaggerated twist and bend, and the ever glinting smile of this man on a mission, a mission with the promise of rum, was a normal sight to all of the individuals on this side of town. Jack was back for a bit, but it was no call for alarm -- he would be off with another load of hearts by the morning.

We can only hope that Jack did indeed intend to walk into the Antique shoppe on the far reaches of town and not into the home of the lovely "pleasure women" next door for once he turned the doorknob he had little chance to turn back. The suck of the slight breeze whipping the stench of blood against his face like the hand of one of his less-than-pleased lovers, the threshold into that small, unimportant shop was the bloody Rubicon. The slight chill of the metal beneath his callus, sea-hardened hands; warm, moist air from the sea rushing around him, and the low moan of inevitability whispering through his gut. This was going to be a life-changing moment.

"'elp. Oh, merciful mother, save me. 'elp. Please 'elp." It wasn't exactly the type of greeting he had expected from a shop clerk. It, in fact, was a rather large reason for him to turn around and walk back out that heavy ebony door. Only the promise of money, lots of money, rum, lots of rum, and eternal life -- lots of life --- kept him moving. It was rather close call, though, and for a second he did indeed think that he wouldn't step, cautiously, over the silver threshold into the room. He closed the door, with naught but a whisper, behind himself, and gave the room a once-over.

A sigh ran through him as he examined the swine whining about on the floor. The heavy-set man squirmed about almost unnaturally trying to get Jack's attention and assistance. "'elp. Oh god, thank you. I 'urt, oh I 'urt." The only thing that moved at the man's exclamation was a dark brow on Jack's face. The clerk, normally a fierce man who kept all dealings around the antique's as fair as possible, in his favor of course, was holding his right hand to his chest. There was also a deep bruise and cut at about the man's temple. His cravat looked more like fire-coral than a piece of fine silk. It was covered in thick, warm blood -- some of it was beginning to brown it had been there so long. He really was a wreck. So much for being a fearsome shopkeeper; he looked rather about to cry.

"You 'ave something of mine." He began to go over the other artifacts completely ignoring the bleeding mass in favor of his own profit. There had to be something shiny in the entry way of an antique shop, right? The guard was down; Jack saw absolutely no harm in kicking him around a while. While waiting for the bled-out man on the floor to wrap his head around what he had just told him he examined a sugar bowl made of ivory and porcelain with gold detail. Gently lifting the lid he looked inside the top of the container and apparently found nothing of interest because moments later it was set back down and completely forgotten.

"It's g-g-g …It's go-go-" The man was very pale, probably from blood loss, and sweating everywhere; however, his trembling Jack liked to think was out of fear. He had worked up quite the reputation for himself again, especially in Tortuga, and was quite proud of what only his name could do to the right people in pain --- such as this bloke.

"Please." He gave an exasperated sigh as if talking to a child. It was quite a characteristic move for Jack. It was part of him to talk down to other people. "Please, do _not_ tell me you sold it. I would be very, very," his playful voice reached a menacing tone. "_very_ cross." As if to make his point Jack picked his pistol out of his belt and twirled it once or twice. He began at a leisurely oppressive pace to stalk towards the clerk.

The man, who had been twitching rather regularly, flew into seizures when the gun was pulled out. Hysterical would be the only way to describe his actions. Tears began to roll down the large man's cheeks, blood spurted around the room from the waiving of his bloody right hand. Jack almost put away his gun just to get him to just shut up. The pirate had never quite received such a reaction for an uncocked pistol. "Dress! Red dress. W-w-whore. Don't shoot me; don't kill me! The red d-d-dress. No! NO! I c-c-can't die like t-t-th-this, not like this…"

"MAN!" Jack had had enough. "Get a bloody 'old of yerself."

"RED DRESS!!" He shrieked madly without any sense or apparent reason.

Before Jack even knew what he was doing he had hurled the guy up into the air by his bloody cravat, his skin looked fake it was so bronze next to this man's paper white skin, and held him there. The other hand pressed the oily barrel of his pistol, metal against blood, to the wound on his temple. "Quiet!!" He stared, kohl-rimmed eyes piercing into the scared flesh he was supporting, until he was sure his demand would be obeyed. When he heard nothing but shivering breath, he continued. "Where is it?"

"S-she took'd it."

"The gel in the red dress?" Jack tried to follow the man, to learn what he needed to obtain the next piece of the puzzle. All he got was a nod in answer, but it was more than enough. "E'eryone in this town got a red dress, mate -- even the gents. Yeh be losin' more and more privilege to your life by the second -- I dislike wastes of my time. Tell me everythin' yeh know about 'er or you'll be the one makin' a sudden stop, savvy?" He growled out the last bit. After all, as a pirate threats were sort of part of the job description.

"When I entered the shop she was already 'ere, in the shadows. I don't know 'ow I could 'ave not noticed 'er in the back room; it is very, very s-s-small. She watched me get the items ready fer today, the important ones, and then spoke. It was a l-l-lovely voice, the one she 'ad, but it was surely the voice of the devil. Before I knew what was goin' on she 'ad pulled pistol on me, a little slip thing. I told 'er I wouldn't give her anythin'. I thought she was j-j-just blaggin', but -- then. -- then."

Jack hadn't paid any attention to the man's hand before. Sure, it was bloody, but he had just figured it scratched up a bit. Now, so closely placed to his own person it was unquestionably without digits. A nub, she had blown off all of his fingers. For a second he could do little more than eye it appreciatively. Most men who fancied themselves torturers lost the stomach for it once they could see bone -- a woman, a ruthless one, was responsible for this nub, though. He certainly hoped that he had not, in some past relationship, given her any reason to dislike him. Knowing his luck he decided he had probably killed the girls mother, father, and childhood pet.

"She did it one by o-o-one." Jack released him in an attempt to get the mangled hand away from his face. The wounded man fell to a heap on the floor. "'er dress was very beautiful, 'er brown hair done up fancy-like -- she look'd like royalty, a princess, -- a queen. The queen of pain." He edged away from Jack now free, attempting to escape from his second captor of the day. Jack let him go without another word.

Royalty. He would have no idea where to turn to if this wasn't Tortuga, but it was. This was his city and he knew every nook and cranny… every bar and every garter. He grabbed an old silk shirt off of the display next to him and used it to wipe the blood from his hands. Even without committing a crime he had still sullied himself. Funny ol' world, now isn't it? A slow smile churned up from the depths of all of his sadistic mirth. He had a heading thanks to one word of a delirious victim. The world was far more than funny, it was sadistic --- sadistic, but utterly glorious.

Halfway out of the door he poked his head back inside the shop settling a judgmental eye upon his informant. His expression was light, boyish, but it held a newly captured darkness; something he had only received after returning from inside the belly of the Kraken, after seeing it's dead, sightless eyes, after those defining moments that "make" a man into what he was always meant to be. "I better not 'ear anythin' of this, Griffin, from another mouth in this or any other town. Keep to yourself about this meeting with Captain Jack Sparrow or yeh mayn't survive another one, savvy?" It was gruff, but yet held the same flowery appeal as every word that Jack spoke. He was a master of making your think what you wanted to think.

Griffin thought that by the grace of the Father and Mother he had been given a second chance at life. When a few minutes had passed since after Captain Sparrow had left him alone the large man crawled up cradling his nub with his remaining hand and sped out of the back room. He needed a doctor and they were all the way at the docks. He prayed that his whole arm wouldn't become infected -- he prayed more in that day than he had in his entire life.

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**A/N: **Comment and you will get more, that is the way I work. 3 3 comments a new chapter, only three. That's not much at all!!

**Thanks to**:  
**You don't but thanks anyway:** I feel bad. Perhaps I was too obvious. ;; Oh wells, 3 you get a cookie for being so astute. Good Job! Also, I used the modern song not because I liked the artist or the actual song but because I thought the lyrics suited E'Louene rather beautifully. She has that "I use you." type of personality. I could have made something or used an old shanty, but I wanted it to be accessible to the audience. You will probably see more modern songs, too, just because that is the way I roll. I loved your uber-long review... make more!! 3  
**angelwingz21:** Thanks! I guess I watch the movies too much and they just sort of wear off on me??  
**Day Dreamerz Rule:** Heh, I'm glad you liked it and I have decided to continue it, although albeit a bit later than everyone probably expected it.

paineAPPLE


	4. the bitter end

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… and yeah! I also do not own Incubus, "Dig," or their lyrics. I just thought it was a beautiful 'frienship' ballad. (heart) yay!

**Author Notes: **I had originally planned for this chapter to have a lot more in it, but when I reached a little bit past 4250 words I was like... "ZOMGSOLONG!" and decided to cut it here and put the rest in another chapter a bit later. I am going to see pirates again today, so ... woohoo! inspiration!! Okay, please R&R. I need feedback. Is it okay? Is anyone confused? Are there any huge plotholes I do not see? I LOVE FEEDBACK, please. pleasepleaseplease. review.

_i dropped me **brain.**_

**Also. **if you would like to talk to me about the fic, or anything really, I am contactable through MSN messenger. " xxcobriana. " Please, add me. 3

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**H e a r t I n A H e a d l o c k**

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Light moved with a slow undulating of hips and arms. It was physical, actual, a body in the breeze taken by the summer sweat and sweet breeze. Fast and slow all in one moment the flicker of candlelight waved like the arms of the priestess of some idealist, paranormal religion. These flames were the slaves of the shop. The pleasure of the night was to be their occupation -- they were slaves, slaves of the night of the shop of the dance. Slaves… to the wind that fluttered past half-draped, open windows and to the people that feasted upon the glories they made reality. Without their actions no masters would be, everything lost in a deafening black, but until that moment of ebony silence nothing favorable shall ever be said of those sickling, winding tools of man.

No, though they lit the sky and stage with a lustrous glow that no other light could dare attempt to duplicate no one paid those flames any mind. They were set all around the stage, dozens -- no, hundreds of candles in large clumps on pedestals, melting into the hardwood of the floor, and hanging from the rafters overhead. It was magical, lovely, and yet another noted attribute of the Gilded Garters tavern stationed in the central region of Tortuga. It was placed strategically between the polite and crude parts of town giving both an open invitation to it. Rather peculiarly, both showed up as well… it was the perfect mix between a proper party and pedigree.

The lighting of this realm, as said before, wasn't important to the inhabitants, both male and female alike, of the pub. They were all there for the current attraction taking places on the stage. Every one of them had a certain glow to their skin from the shiny of onyx over well-toned muscles to the misty glimmer of peaches and cream over a petite child's frame. It was alluring, they were alluring, all five of them, the dancers; all of them were exquisite. In response to all of them, together in the candlelight, none of the men could utter a word for every mouth was hung loose in awe of such a sight. No equal, they thought, would they ever see in all of their days of sailing and searching. These women, all different and exotic in their own way, had gone much further then their normal parlor show.

This was the show that Steven had been telling blokes about for months; they had all been dying to see something new and invigorating like that which had been promised to them,… and they were going to tonight.

All of their clothes were different. Stage left, towards the back, was the tallest of the girls. Lillith looked more darkly, dangerously beautiful than every before. She stood positioned, an Amazon ready to strike down any thing before her. The ebony-tanned leather was so tight it was nearly impossible to tell from her actual skin. It was fitted to be like a bustier leaving her stomach and most of her cleavage bare without any fear for her reputation or safety. Her skirt was a series of dark leather strips about an inch and a half thick hanging loose down from her low hip. The strips of dark, studded silver material didn't go down past her knees, but were thick enough to cover the tight leather bloomers beneath most of the time. Large black feathers extended from her half-up/half-down hair style which did very little to draw away from the silver shade around her eyes and cold of the silver on her lips. She looked dead and deadly in the same moment.

A churn of her hips with the very first beat started the motion. No one else moved. It was an entrancing action and every eye in the rather large tavern was immediately upon it. The silver designs painted upon her bare, dark stomach came to life as the intoxicating drop and pull of her hip bones made her look like she was made of nothing but water. It was hard and full of bass, and she moved I forgot that it was she who moved and not the music around her, to her whim.

A strike on some shell or piece of wood loudly chimed through the room, but their eyes were far from the musicians responsible for it. Still on the left side but more to the center of the stage and forward was the token Asian, Aoi. Her hands, from their placement on her waist, lilted up wafting the air around her into a perfumed frenzy. The silk cuffs on her wrist her a lovely Prussian blue that made the tan of her skin look unearthly and magnificent. They had purchased the unique outfit she was showing off from a barge returning from a trip to India and the rest of the Orient. It's top was a plethora of dangles and beads and sheer material piled upon her feminine, petite bust line. The dancers of the Middle East, it was said, used them in the brothels of the kids. The bottom was little more than a piece of silk, the same Prussian blue, with an assortment of bobbles as well.

Seductively her hips crawled out the dance covering a very small area with maximum impact, the dangles on all of her clothing, including the blue garter shown on her exposed thigh, sang with the beat enhancing the music. Her moves were as soft and undulating as water and yet could easily draw any eye away from the less subtle steps Lillith weaved just a little ways behind her. The three remaining, gracefully positioned dancers neither moved nor made a sound. Turning her back to the audience they watched the graceful rise and fall of all her bare muscles. Her flawless movements had brought her towards Esmeralda.

The redhead's hair was normally curly but now was teased into a dizzy amount of fluff. It gave her a wild, yet luscious look. She had a shine to her lips and eyes, a dark, lazy, half-lidded wanton quality that none of the girls would never be able to (or want to) reproduce that drew to her a certain audience. Her dark and sage green-colored dress only made her look more stunning. The bright chaotic luminosity of her catching just as much as the fairness of any of the others. Some men liked insane women and to most who frequented the Gilded Garters.

When the small, round-faced Japanese girl reached Esmeralda the music really started. Her hand, timid and yellow-tinted, snaked towards the white, lightly freckled arm a few inches away from herself. Skin met skin and in a single fiery instance Esmeralda shot to life. Head jutting in a painful angle to look down at the girl. Everyone held there breath when they saw the fire in the girls' eyes. What would happen? That was what they all asked in that moment.

The sheer sage green fabric that draped down the red-head's arms and legs shivered and rippled as Esmeralda took to motion. Her hand stung, Aoi's cheek stung, and the air around all of them shook from the force of the planned blow. Aoi's eyes were wide, but she had known it was going to happen. They were all just good actresses. She let herself fall, in a shadow of oceanic blue fabric, and turned with in the fall, her legs following her through the air perfectly straight.

Aoi finished up her little trick to land pitifully at Coral's feet. She didn't look down at her though, she remained still on the balls of her feet stretching up as if trying to reach something. The piece of fluff they had found for the "girl" type of their show had been picked off a French merchant ship in route to his majesty himself. It was a new theater craze that had been running around for five or six decades now, they called it _ballet_. The skirt was a couple of stiff layers of pink and salmon tulle lace extending straight off and around her hips. Underneath the delicately made and tightly bound top of the same pale pink were very detailed and overly-ribboned bodice; the bottoms were, instead of being dress-like, were fashioned to be very short lace, ribbon, and white cotton bloomers.

They had heavily powdered her face, as you would a baby's on baptism morning, and done very little else in the way of make up other than adding rouge to her cheeks. She looked like the picture perfect pre-teen. A moment passed, the music urged the actions of the players on. The audience remained silent, perhaps it was because they didn't know what to do with actual theater, actual acting, or perhaps it was because they couldn't remember seeing so many delightfully clad women at one time.

She rocked back onto her heels and settled her eyes onto the girl at her feet calculating the situation like an angel would your judgment. Coral looked the part easily, some distant goddess burning a hole into you with only her innocent blue eyes; it was easy to see what drew the more reminiscent of young men to her side. Shoulders held in perfect posture, Head held crooked to the side inquisitively; she bent her body at the hips a hand moving gracefully to touch the side of Aoi's red cheek. There was a moment of silence in the music and everyone held her breath.

The dark shadow, Lillith, had grabbed the poor girl's other hand forcing the innocent and blindly loving thing away from Aoi's side. They were in an embrace of leather and lace, Lillith and Coral, offered a few exciting steps for the more morbid-minded of their tavern guests. One man croaked out a catcall at one of the rough strokes that Lillith forced her pink little friend into -- the other dancers circled around the two of them. It was building, the tension in the music, everyone could feel it on the back of their necks.

"'ey!" Blaze who had been standing still, center stage, without so much as a noticeable breath had suddenly opened her eyes and called out to the scene that was happening just to the right of her. She sounded angry. She sounded demanding. She sounded like everyone who knew Blaze knew she would sound. Her catlike amber eyes settled upon Coral in Lillith's arms. She set her body into a seductress's dance and if everyone hadn't noticed what she had been wearing before they all certainly noticed now. As usual, it was red: a corset top, low though and exposing so much cleavage that she could quite seriously pop out at any moment. The silk which made up the top looked to be of Asian design with it's carefully hand stitched silver designs.

The sweaty air whipped around the dancers and all of them let out a different pitched sigh that crooned in harmony. "Baby…" Blaze leaned over in her tight, Chinese piece with slits on both sides exposing enough garter to get a few more calls from the men, especially her admirers, and helped Aoi to her feet.

There was an explosion of dance a second later. Lillith twirled Coral one way, Blaze sent Aoi another and they were all out, flashing leg, churning hips, ruffling their various states of dress. It was truly amazing. However, that didn't shock the gents in the chairs at all compared to what happened little more than half a second later. "We all 'ave a weakness, but some of ours be easy to identify." The Queen, all of their queen, E'Louene Vera, was in the middle of all of them just sitting at one of the highly populated pub tables. Under watchful eye all of the men were sure, but still starting with all of them, like one of them. They felt touched -- well, those that still had half a brain anyway.

"Look me in the eye." A hush whisper, a sung threat… she had a husky edge to her voice that drew these sea-hardened men to her.

"… and ask for forgiveness; we'll make a pact to never speak that word again." It took most of them a few more lines to find her leaning back in her chair, curly hair held back by a thin piece of cloth like a headband. She had on shin-high gold-brown boots that still fit her like a glove, but her shorts didn't start until way after high-thigh. They were, in short, practically none-existent cutoffs of Lillith's design that made Louene feel more uncomfortable than anyone could ever imagine. The white blouse had most of the front cut out and in it's place had been sewn a mock-corset tie. Her thin linen and cotton and silk outfit was enhanced only by the delicate stitch and needlework with 24k gold string. It caught the light and glittered designs of phoenixes and fire and tails and rebirth.

Through the ashes she was reborn; they had laughed at the idea of her being a female pirate. A "whore with sails" they had called her. How little they still knew of her after all of these years. The thought hurt only a little now. She must leave, it had always been something she knew was coming; in a way, she was even looking forward to it. Lou Rivera, E'Louene Vera, had never meant to keep herself bottled up with a family for quite so long. However, who would willingly left a crew such as this after she found it? … Oh yes, her. She pushed her feet to the ground and the chair THUNKED loudly wood against wood. The good sirs at her table all leaned in close trying to pick up as much as her as possible, to breath her in.

Coral moved with dizzy ballet steps, high beautiful jumps, and gentle waves of her arm to the front of the stage. She landed and went to the ground, getting closer to the crowd. They raised their heads to her like a sunflower would a flower. "Yes, ye be me friend." The high almost falsetto voice rung off the walls clear and strong as a bell in the church tower. She reached a hand out to Lou in the crowd and crooned for her. The song was calling to her attempting to sooth her wounds. It hadn't been the song they had planned, but it was one they all knew. They had planned some sweet party song for the gents to get on with, not something serious like this, not a song about meaningful things. However, now that they all thought about it, the music fit these words much more fully and the lyrics touched all of them in a way no others could. "We all 'ave something that digs at us, at least we dig each other." Those words were soft from her, lovely and moving.

A loud scratch signaled the moving of Louene's chair backwards. She was at her feet only a moment later, moving towards where the fallen dancer was calling to her. There was hope in her eyes shining brightly and the men all whooped for her sudden action and in appreciation for what she was wearing. Pirates like hardcore, sexy pirate women. It was just the way things happened. As Esmeralda reached the innocent of the group pulling and tugging her towards the back of the stage the Queen began to sing again. "So when weakness turns me ego up, I know ye'll count on the me from yesterday." Coral freed herself and began to dance her way out into the crowd, towards the only standing person -- the female pirate.

Lillith had begun to dance her way into the crowd as well, her moves large and for show, doing handstands and shaking all her mother (god bless her!) had given the girl. She turned back at a call to her from Aoi. She had a shaky voice sometime, but everyone had to recognize the potential in the calming lull of her voice. It pulled an unsure tone along with it that made all of the men want to protect her. "If I turn into another dig me up from under what be coverin' the bettah part of me."

Blaze one hand stroke over Aoi's arm and her other grabbed Lillith's wrist, "Sing this song remind me that we'll always 'ave each other… when everything else is gone." Their small circle of dancers moving upon the dance floor began to move towards the other group of three.

Esmeralda danced alone on the stage her steps taunting and wicked. When everyone else had gone out on the floor to join E'Louene she stopped and pointed accusatorily at her. She had always been the one keeping Esmeralda from her dreams, or that was what the girl told herself when she tried to rationalize why she wasn't singing every night in the Queen's stead. "We all 'ave a sickness that cleverly attaches and multiplies… No matter 'ow ye try. We all 'ave someone that digs at us, at least we dig each other." She was taunting, the way she sang, rubbing the darkness of her past into E'Louene's face without anyone else around them noticing. With a crude roll of her hips she had jumped, cat-like, off of the stage and landed only due to her dancer's grace.

Blaze was at the Queen's side a second later, all of them had their partners. Blaze twirled the obviously hurt girl into her embrace. The red-clad woman cradled the golden-brown one. The other girls did complex pair moves, flips, spread-eagles, turns, cartwheels, they charmed the men, but Queen and Blaze made their hearts, hearts they forgot they had, yearn.

"So when sickness turns me ego up, I know ye'll act as a clever medicine." Blaze dropped Queen into a dip and their eyes both raked the crowd for a proper bit of prey. A candlelit table with a Cheshire cat caught her matching kohl-rimmed eyes. He was an enemy; her cackles rose. He was an enemy and she didn't even know his name. All of their voices rang out at the same time, powerfully shaking the men to their core. "If I turn into another dig me up from under what be coverin' the bettah part of me. Sing this song, remind me that we'll always 'ave each other….

when everything else be gone."

Their voices faded out and the music took it's place all of the instruments playing much harder than before. The girls allowed it, enjoyed it, and began to move towards their prey. Out of the corner of her eye E'Louene saw Blaze walking towards with saucy steps the man at the well-lit table, the Cheshire cat, the man with kohl-rimmed eyes, her enemy without a name. Louene changed her course towards both of them in an attempt to keep her friend safe. Why had she chosen the shadiest bloke in the entire establishment to be her puppy tonight? The last night she was responsible for all of them. Why would she risk it tonight?

Because she could; the answer was too simple.

The silk dress slid into his lap, red against faded clothing of a seafarer, just as Louene reached them. His hands full of ornate rings and dirt under his fingernails and baked into his skin gently touched the flow of the red silk piled upon his lap as if unsure of it. Not trusting it to be real. Louene, before she could control her impulses, grabbed his own and pulled it away from the fabric. She walked around his chair positioning herself behind him. Blaze shot her a dirty look, clearly claiming him as her own, but the unwise, territorial woman no mind. Once the man's hand was behind his head, hidden from view by her body and his, she pulled his pinky in threat -- not enough force to pop it off, but enough to show she could.

Her head, brown hair falling in a soft, smooth curtain keeping others out, lowered her lips to his ear. "If ye touch her again ye'll lose your bloody finger, savvy?" Her breathy voice drew nothing but his eyes, eyes such a dark brown they appeared to be black. Those eyes were full of attitude, so much attitude that she wanted to rip his arm off instead of his pinky. They were daring her and she really wanted to go ahead and show him she could. However, a room full of witnesses would have been a little bothersome. Instead of damaging the man as she wanted she just let go of his hand and let her upper body slide down his other arm spitefully.

Her head went back and let back a series of "Oooh" hums as she churned her hips upward. Bringing her body up and giving more of a show with her female 'attributes' than any of the others had the entire time. Some women just knew had to work what they had as it was intended when they were handing out gifts, some had to learn… Louene knew. "Oooh. Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhhh!!! If I turn into another dig me up from under what is covering the better part of me." She raised her hands above her head and showed the men around her, one man in particular, all that they could never have. The other girls began to crawl their way back to the stage, Esmeralda taking the word 'crawl' as literally as possible from her perch upon some boy's table.

"Sing this song; remind me that we'll always have each other, when everything else is gone! Oh, each other when everything else is gone. Ohhh, each other… when everything else is gone." E'Louene benched out the last holding the song and pressing it in just the right way. She was a craftswoman and had been doing all of this long enough to know just how to breath to get everyone to look, how to shudder to get wanton smiles, and how to smile in response. It was always like this, she got one thing down and immediately had to move out and go to something else. The music began to fade out, everyone else was on the stage running through the last steps, but she just fell into some sandy-haired soldier's. He settled his hands on her hips and smiled triumphantly at his friends. Apparently a bet must have been made as to who would get the best piece of candy that night.

He had won. She smiled up at him looking far more endearing than she actually was, "Ye gonna buy us a drink then?" Laughing loudly he did as bidden calling over to a barmaid for two pints. He must have intended to get her drink, she rationalized. The pretty smile turned wicked. There would be quite a bit of shock on his side when she out-drank him.

A rough pat on her shoulder brought her attention to the looming figure behind her. Steven, she had thought he would wait until after her business was done here, apparently he wasn't in a good enough mood to give her that. "We need tah talk…. And now, Vera." He half pulled, half helped her out of the boy's lap after she had given him her apologies and a playful peck on his cheek.

As they walked through the crowd many of the men called to her, asking for her company and she just politely waved all of them off. Her eyes were going to from girl to girl ensuring their choices for the night were suitably safe looking. When she found Blaze the fake smile slid away to a deep scowl. She was on _that man's_, the one that looked less trustworthy than a foreman in a Turkish prison, lap. Face close to his own whispering who knows what, -- she knew what, in his ear. His hand came up to finger his silly braided beard.

Black-sky eyes met sea-green ones and a hurricane formed over Blaze's advances. His hand waved a bit to get her attention before settling on the small of the red dancer's back. It took every fiber of her being to just look away from, she was sure, his smirking, roguish smile. She would kill that man one day, maybe not today, but she would. Following Steven McCook a exultant smile took her own features. It was good to be able to think such things again, to be able to issue death threats. Polite society had owned her for too long, she needed the freedom that cutting and shooting and cannonade gave to an individual.

If someone wronged her, they would be punished; if someone hurt her friends, they would be punished; how long had it been since she had realized this, been able to think these things without guilt staining her? She didn't know, but she knew that she would never let herself fall into being that false, fake thing she had been for so long before now. She was a pirate, she was a captain, and she was going to hurt everyone who had once wronged her until their throats were red with blood from screaming…

Lou Rivera. She was Lou "Knives" Rivera.

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**A/N: **Comment and you will get more, that is the way I work. Three comments and you get new chapter, only three. That's not much at all!! I hope everything is okay so far, if it's not you can always flame me. I don't mind flames... as long as they are like pow-wow sized not like... "OMGBURNTHEWITCH" sized. kay? k.

**Thanks: **This will start to be personalized, due to the fact that ... it's a rule. 3 so check your PM's guys.

paineAPPLE


	5. on TOUCHING

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… (heart) yay!

**Author Notes: **You are very bad children to not review. You should. I have about 450 hits, yet... only 5 reviews. **Review, review, review, review, review. SODDING REVIEW PLZKTHX!!!** Don't make me sad; I live for feedback. **If you review I might give you a reward... like influencing PLOT! or inserting your own SONG! or doing anything... just review?! **Oh, last but not least, I am looking for a new _**Beta**_. My old one got a job... we should cry and be emo about it. If you are interested and qualified hit me with a PM or e-mail or whatever.

**Pirate Quote! **_where is the **thump-thump**?  
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**Also. **if you would like to talk to me about the fic, or anything really, I am contactable through MSN messenger. "xx(underscore)cobriana. Please, add me. does the feedbackwhore dance

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**H e a r t I n A H e a d l o c k**

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His hand was still on her hip, still on his prize.

"Now what ever to do ye mean, Mr. Sparrow." Her brown straight hair was piled upon her head and smelled of lavender. Rum stung his tongue and the back of his neck. Red silk, warmed by her flesh, it felt a lot like blood, actually, except for it wasn't sticky or wet, was the only thing keeping his head in a business where normally his libido ruled. It was hard to believe that such a vixen could really be responsible for blowing each and every finger off of a man's hand, but I guess you should really never underestimate the female creature -- and even more an insane female creature.

"Captain, luv. Captain. Jack." His voice was soft, only for her in the candlelit barroom, yet it held a bite, an edge, that make shivers run up your spine and keep you coming back for more. He was good at what he did. "Sparrow." She squirmed a little in obvious delight and for a second he doubted all together that this was the woman who stole the artifact from the shop. She would have to be an actress, of course, but Jack had never seen a woman -- especially a woman capable of disastrous things -- have her guard down like this. To shiver in his grasp, it made him feel completely in control, like a man, and it was something a strong woman would have never stood for… this couldn't be her.

However, it was. He was looking too far into it. The silk under his fingers was ruby red, blood red, -- cherry red, and the Gilded Garters was the only shop on Tortuga who cared much, or at all, about the quality of dresses. It could have been someone that had no ties to the island, that much was true, but it would be impossible to track a lead like that -- someone who just came in and then left without a word. No, this was the girl. The one that looked like a queen, had a voice of an angel, and -- he was betting -- held the mentality for torture.

"Very well, Captain Jack Sparra', what is it that ye 'ave planned for me?" His lips curled into a wicked smile. Yes, she was a very good actress, wonderful diction, perfect delivery; however, as he generally was, --- Jack was better. He leaned in close, he could feel her side firmly against the front of his chest, yet tugged her closer still, she was the type of woman that needed to be possessed. He was the type of man that wanted to own something… until the next morning anyway, or in this case, until he told the girl to hand over the artifact she had taken from a now digit-less shopkeeper. Yes, that was definitely going to cramp any future growth for them.

He settled his lips at the piece of soft skin directly below her earlobe, Blaze turned just a little away from his grasp before relaxing. "I suggest… we take ye and me plans for yer person tah a place a li'le more private, lest red should besmear me lady's cheeks." He didn't know that she could smell the rum on his breath, and that she hated the drink herself, but it did nothing to change her answer. It would have been the same no matter who or what asked her to leave. There were rules and she wasn't raised as someone to ignore them. If you ignored the rules you had to face the consequences and, she had learned over time, the end never justified risking it all.

She pulled away only a little, to smile sheepishly like she always did, it gave her great enjoyment to tease the men and it kept the crowds big… so in a way it was just an extension of her work. Blaze had been with very few men in her life; she was wary of them and their actions that very frequently left her with a broken heart. It took a lot more than any old drunken sailor with kind phrases to get her to lift her skirt. Normally, anyway, but this Jack Sparrow held an enigmatic something that made her _want_ to be spontaneous and do things she had never wanted before. She was always the good girl, the sharp-eyed friend, the level headed female… why now did she want spontaneity in her life? Why did she find herself wanting to do what she wanted to do because she wanted to? It was maddening and made her feel very much like a school girl. He made her feel like a school-girl. Yes, there was something.

There was something magical about this man whose lap she sat in. "I cannot, much to me regret. There are rules that even I be 'ard pressed to folla'. Ye be quite a fine man to 'ave for the night, Cap'n Sparrow, but me job be a might finer in me eye." With that done her fun was completely over again. Steven had decided, months ago now, that they were to sleep where they lived and if one of the girls reported the other missing then they would have to report to him. Esmeralda would definitely tell if any of the others were not there; she was always fishing for a way to crawl up the figurative ladder.

Touché. She had successfully cut herself off from his maneuverings and without even so much as lifting a finger. Perhaps she really did know what she was doing and wasn't just some beautiful, brainless thing with … two rather large things. He pulled his eyes back up from those matters in question and focused on her light brown eyes. "Well, luv, ye do present a problem for us, but as I don't see yer keeper anywheres as so 'e could keep ye from escaping yer convent, and mum is the condition to which the other dancers will keep yer absence after they receive a little pre-planned incentive -- I see no reason why we could not leave right… now." He smiled wolfishly; he almost wanted to see his sheep escape this corner he had laid out for her,… almost.

Planned. He had planned all of this. She looked at him not quite believe all he had told her. Somehow this man had organized a private rendezvous for them. Part of her told her that this wasn't to be trusted, that anything planned by a man was sure to be of evil intent, but the rational part of herself to her the only evil thing he had in mind lived in his pants --- which she had an idea wouldn't really be all to evil. For the first time in years the blood pumped to her cheeks and the tips of her ears, flattery normally was false in her line of work so it was awkward when you actually find an individual that actually suited you fancy and cared… for you… even if just a little bit. "You went through so much trouble?" She let her eyes drift uncertainly over the contours of her weatherworn face before drifting back to his dark, unreadable eyes. "Why?" It was a simple question, or so one would think, but the question always came off to general. Why what? Why…why? She wasn't even quite sure what she was asking so how could she expect him to give an answer.

She didn't know how she could expect such a thing, but she did….

She wanted him to give her -- something.

He slid his callused hand up the side of her soft, tanned arm. "The reward, I am sure," that arm drifted back down her arm and settled back down on her silk-covered waist, "will be worth well more than any physical sum we could ever imagine." He took a break to down the rest of his almost-forgotten rum. She raised a brow at the action in obvious distaste, but said nothing of it. There was not better way to finish off a romantic turn of phrase than downing some alcohol. "Now, what do ye say, luv, shall we get out of 'ere while the going is good?" Blaze still looked hesitant towards the object of leaving. She didn't want to lose her job, a smart gel, but when Esmeralda made a clear shooing motion -- she had been _very_ well-paid to assist him courtesy the pocket of some other bloke here -- at both of them it seemed to end all of the girl's pangs.

He had won. It hadn't been that difficult, truth be told, but winning always made him feel much better. The spoon was practically in his grasp. After watching the girls' warm up, the way Blaze clucked around the other dancers like a mother hen, he had been a little worried that she would be the 'I hate men' type of woman. He had purchased the green one's assistance fairly simply; she seemed more than willing to get the red girl out of the way for a while. Steven McCook would definitely be in for a show tonight from her.

Whore. Jack thought rather affectionately, the world needed a few more desperate whores.

Once Blaze had gotten up from her placement upon his lap the members of the Black Pearl scattered around the room relaxed. Jack had won this battle; everything was to go as planned and they were going to live it up before the scheduled move tomorrow. As they left, the pirate captain's arm wrapped around his would-be lass's shoulders, Steven and Louene walked back into the front room both of them obviously brooding. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyebrows, eyes glinting for a reason to fight about it, yes… they were obviously brooding.

Candles drowning in their own wax began to flicker away to death. The room wouldn't be empty though until all of them went out and the only light was the oil lamp behind the bar. Yes, Saturday was always a wild day full of more than enough entertainment for all. That was why, in the dimly lit room, they paid no mind to the reason why they couldn't find Blaze when they gave it a once over. There were probably a hundred faces, in this kind of light it would be easy to overlook one or two. Lou found a red-haired sailor who looked a bit lonely and joined his table, not his lap, for a few glasses of rum before the night died. He seemed honest, but then again it was the honest-looking ones you should always expect to be dishonest. I mean, look at her, she was just about as evil as they came and her face could rival any silly puppy-dogs.

He glanced at her, fixing only one eye upon her, before glacing back to his rum and keeping his gaze there. The solemn type, Lou recognized. Serious to a fault, never allowing himself to loosen up. Unfortunately for him, she had a certain attachment to the "strong and silent" archetype. "Well, luvly. I do believe it be considered bad manners tah ignore a lady in yer presence." She took the glass in front of the little boy next to him. They gave off the appearance of being close, but one look at one and then another at the other was all you needed to tell they were not related. A swig later informed her that the boy nigh but twelve was drinking some rather strong whiskey. A soft cough left her because she wasn't expecting such a burn. The boy fixed her with a laughing look that made her want to pop him… or hug him, either one.

He, the older one, let his eyes drifted towards her again and she offered him a toothy smile. He hadn't expected her to be demur, had he? Oooh, that was a mistake on his part to assume she would a sweet brainy thing and wait for his action. No, that was for one of the other girls to do, she was strong and violently in your face. It was part of her charm; it made her the Queen.

No, she reminded herself. She was no longer the queen.

Her smile turned into a grin and she hid it with another pull from the whiskey. The land legs that had been attached to her for so long were coming the hell off, and she was going to get back to her beautiful sea of blue-green waves and unpredictable gusts. By the strength of her back she would create as much for herself as she could; she would be honest and dishonest and make and take and devour the entire world… Again, for the second time, she would join those of legend and take up the place that was rightly hers at the Brethren court. Too long that idiot has had her piece, too long had she been rotting here. "It is also considered bad manners to not ask permission to sit at a complete stranger's table." His voice held less rogue to it than was usual for a deck hand.

He definitely wasn't a noble soul willing to take pain for the lady. There wasn't even so much as a pleasant line upon his face to show sign of that being a joke. He obviously wasn't one of her admirers, Lou found that she liked him much more because of it. She didn't like it when battles were won too easily. They always, those easy triumphs, seemed to mean less to you when the day faded; she never wanted to look back at a day she lived and think it wasn't meant everything she had made the day before. It was the way she lived, constantly growing, and it was how she hoped to remain. "Aye, that be true. I suppose we can look over each other's wrongs in favor of a more … fertile relationship, neh? Tit-a-tat and all that. Might I ask yer name, sailor… I assume ye be one considering I do not know ye and thus ye must just be passing through, also may I have the name of your young companion who so politely supplied me with drink?" She winked over at him and the teenage boy had the decency to smile a little. Normally most adults just ignored him. He quite liked it when they didn't.

"I'm Mack." The boy answered instead of the gentleman, but she didn't mind the switch. It was pleasurable just to hear someone was pleased to have her there. She had begun to wonder if she had lost some of her charm. The boy leaned over towards her and she didn't move to lean away, she was rather used to the same old scene, even if he was young enough to be her son --- maybe.. "This be Robert. He never really talks much." The red-haired Robert only narrowed his eyes at the boy for apparently making him look like a jerk. Lou let out a loose bit of laughter. They were quite the endearing duo. "As for the whiskey, I wouldn't have allowed it, but ye left me quite tongue tied for a while, luv."

If Lou had thought them cute before she positively loved them after a few minutes of chatter. She laughed and let out a few savage quips. They were good men, and it was hard to find good men these days. They had another round of drinks. "Ye must tell me, young Master Mack, what ship is privileged enough to have ye as a member of it's crew?" She affectionately rubbed at the boy's long hair playfully tossing it in his face. Perhaps after all of this was said and done, and if she lived through it, she could look up these two and enlist upon the same vessel. They would certainly make for an entertaining time, much more so than crazy rapists would.

The boy could hold a surprising amount of alcohol for his size, then again… so could she, but it was completely evident that his head was a little out of the game after two glasses of pure whiskey. "We sail 'board the Black Peal; she be cap'ned by Jack Sparra's" He spoke the words with a blind kind of pride. She heard a dull thud from Rob kicking Mack under the table. The boy looked at him, his eyes grew just a tad wide, and his silenced himself with another helping of whiskey. What had that all been about?

It took her about ten seconds to put it all together. Jack Sparrow, Black Pearl, Undead Pirates, Barbossa, Aztec Gold, Undead Pirates, Undead, Undead, Undead, undead, Immortal, …. immortality. Eternal life, Jack Sparrow, nogoodsoddingbastard, Jack Sparrow, Barbossa, Jack Sparrow, Eternal Life. That took ten seconds. Blaze. It seems a lot longer. She looked around the room for any glimpse of red silk or rum drunk pirate. Blaze and Jack Sparrow. They weren't here; she was sure of it. Ten seconds, it seems much longer when you have a moment that gives you a fork in the road. Jack Sparrow had Blaze because he thought that she -- because of the red -- … it was her fault.

Ten Seconds. It took her ten seconds to throw back her chair, and tear across the room towards the door. He had her; why had she forgotten about who was on his lap? This was all of her fault. Dammit, why hadn't she worn Esmeralda's dress? She knew the answer, because it would have been noticed missing, but she didn't want to know why. It was easier to not be rational in moments like this. Steven didn't say anything to her when she left; after all, she had given him her resignation all ready, what could he do to make her stay her last night? Nothing.

The warm, wet ocean air gave her none of the normal relief it usually brought. Her heart was beating so loudly she could hear it, every vein was shaking with life. She had forgotten about this part of the job, the harsh terror for those few you cared about. How could she have put little Rosalie in this kind of danger. It wasn't couth to tell the others anything other than your stage name, but Blaze knew hers "Lou Rivera" and she knew her's "Rosalie Hawkings." They were each other's best friends and she wouldn't allow anyone to touch her. No one would touch her. She took a deep breath and looked down the busy street both ways. She attempted to think like the no good piece of crap that had taken her friend, but came up empty handed. She didn't even really know him. She slowly set down the street her costume getting a few catcalls -- well maybe a few dozen.

No one would touch her.

It had taken Blaze quite a while to realize just how much of a fool she was. Jack Sparrow had skillfully played to every romantic, female cell in her body. When he locked eye with her in the dance she should have suspected something, her hackled should have been raised; when he had planned some elaborate way to get her alone, she should have been suspicious; when he had pulled her away from the main street into the dark alley, she should have thought something other than, 'So the boy 'as a dark alley fetish.' She wanted to bang her head against the wall for being so blind, for forgetting that all men are scum and that you cannot trust them. She really did want to take her head and smash it repetitively against the stone wall behind it, but -- Jack was doing that for her.

His eyes were narrowed in malice, his upper lip raised like a pissed off dog; what had she done to deserve catching the eye of some sadistic rapist. "You stupid gel, where is it?" He hissed in a voice that sounded much to menacing to ever come from someone like him. The seriousness was material, floating through the air, where previously had hung small-talk and idle chatter. Blaze had absolutely no idea what he was looking for or where it was… so she told him that.

"Let go of me! Let go of me ye soddin' rum-drunk, scrotum-suckin', lily-livered piece of infected jackass!" Well, she had thought about telling him that, but then decided to tell him exactly what she thought about all of this. In any place, other than Tortuga, that would have been enough to alert some noble gentleman to her whereabouts and for her to be saved. But, unfortunately for Blaze, this was Tortuga, and rape and death were just part of the credo. It was allowed; those were rights preserved by the freemen who lived here. It's crazy but true. Jack's hand, which smelled of dirt, rum, salt, and fish, knocked her back against the stone pushing the side of her face into the grooves of uneven bricklaying and keeping it there.

His face got right near her exposed ear and drew to a low, menacing volume. "Don't try to play dumb with me, woman. There is only one place that 'as red dresses of such quality in all of Tortuga and it 'appens to be yer closet. So, where 'ave ye 'idden it?" From underneath his hand she attempted to growl out a few more hexes at him and all of his piratey kind. She talked of his mother, father, brother, sister's cousin's former roommate -- but it all came out as a gurgle, a very angry gurgle. "I am goin' tah assume that was nothin' of value." She set her lips into a deep scowl apparently deciding that silence would be perhaps warrant him raising his hand. It didn't; he kept his hand right where it was. He wasn't getting anywhere, but the saddest thing was he didn't know how to even begin. Half of himself even doubted she was the girl he was looking for and the idea of torturing an innocent dancer with a physic to die for just didn't appeal to him at all. Was she really just the actress of a century; was he wrong?

Something in him immediately recoiled. She was just a good actress, because he couldn't be wrong. His logic was undeniable. The sweat from her forehead was dripping down into his hand making his fingers slide against it's contours. He dug his fingernails in a little to keep his place. She was a criminal, not an innocent, and he was a criminal too, not an innocent -- actions between them shouldn't hurt him. He was doing what was right by him. "I will give you three more chances." With his free hand he pulled a small "utility" knife of no great beauty from his belt. It was used, normally, with cutting rope or other such things. "If you tell me what I want to know then…"

The blade slashed clean across her bare collarbone. Red started in little droplets welling up from the skin and eventually poured out onto her dress. She squealed in pain and thrashed against him violently. He laid his body against her whispering pacifying noises into her ear. "… then, I will give ye a few fancy marks before handin' you over to this fine brothel next door. There is a party already set up for ye if ye prove to be… too spirited." Her breath became ragged. Obviously, Jack smirked, she had figured out who was to wear the pants in their short-lived relationship. Her eyes were large, pupils huge trying to suck in the light which wasn't there. There was no light to shine her way; she had taken the next part of his puzzle and he was going to reclaim it.

Jack took his hand off of her mouth and pushed instead on her wounded collarbone. The air left her lungs and scooted through clenched teeth to make a hissing noise. It hurt her… good. "I don't 'ave it with me; we will 'ave to back to the tavern to fetch it." The shaky reply seemed honest enough. He looked into her eyes for a long moment before pushing her far more angrily against the brick wall behind them. She felt all the air leave her, which is good for Jack because Blaze would have screamed with every ounce she had in her a second later. He took the knife sliding it a quarter inch into her skin and made a large semi-circle above the line. Her dress was now two-tone, fading from a thick, bright red to some man's apple addiction.

Tears were running down her face as well as sweat now. "Why… why would ye do that?"

A deep noise of distaste left him like a growl. "I will not be lied tah, Blaze."

Her eyes, if they had previously been wide, now turned into saucers. She had no way to escape this mad man in front of her, because as much as Jack didn't want to think about it, Blaze was an innocent. She had never taken the spoon from the fat clerk's shop. She had never blown off a man's finger with a pistol. She had never even thought about chasing after something like eternal life… thought it impossible. Port was her home, not the sea, and innocence, not debauchery, was her way. Yes, Captain Jack Sparrow had made one doozy of a mistake this time, but by the time someone found out about her death he would be long gone. Hiding in the shadows away from the responsibility of something as horrible as an innocent girl's death -- well, innocent relatively speaking.

She closed her eyes very tightly, trying to forget he was there, but the pain and the humid, sticky air that kept the stench of blood surrounding them wouldn't allow her such a pleasure. No, the fates hate you today Rosalie Hawkings. Her father had been murdered by some workings of the Port Royale ton; that had led her here. She had never been quite a lady, but she had been a vital part of society, her father a notable captain who still believed in honor of loyalty. That was what had ended up getting him killed. Her mother had hung once everything went all pear-shaped thanks to the East India Company, and she had been smuggled out by a few honest members of her fathers crew. She should have hung, hanging probably didn't leave you in as much pain as these cuts and bruises did.

A deep breath brought some semblance of sense back to her. She needed to remember her father, a Captain, who had been so much more than this man. Living… she had to keep on going for them. They had died for country and honor and so should she one day. Another day --- today was not her day to die. "Ye are bloody mad. I 'ave told ye the truth, ye just refuse to 'ear it. I do not 'ave yer bloody artifact, I 'ave taken nothing, I am innocent." She was firm and proud of her little speech. Proud until she blade cut across her skin again in short, painful bites.

He let out a dark chuckle. She was innocent. It was simply laughable. "Luv, yer skirt be far… far too short for ye tah be innocent involvin' mucha anythin'." He was bitter and taunting and going to kill her. Her eyes locked his black ones. She tried to convey innocence in a look. Sorrow for things left undone and a longing to live, but it was too much. He wasn't receiving it. She could tell by the way he grew bored with waiting and glanced up at the sky as if praying for speed. As soon as she answered this time there would be nothing left… her three chances would be up and her life would be practically forfeit. Steven would never look for her in a brothel.

She couldn't blame the man either; she wouldn't have looked for herself in a brothel.

Maybe she would die of blood loss. Her life-force was slowly leaking out and soaking into the silk of her dress; it was clinging morbidly to her chest living nothing to the imagination really. They should think about wetting the girls down every once and a while for the act. It did marvels for showing off your body. She tried to keep herself focused, but her mind kept slipping. Her mouth opened, obviously intending to tell him her third answer. She didn't even know what her third answer was… she closed her mouth. Open. Close. Op -- She felt like a fish just pumping water in and out.

"I. I-I-I… I!" She knew that whatever she said wouldn't change the outcome, but nothing would come out anyway. "I… I-"

Luckily for her, and her fraying psyche, Jack Sparrow chose that moment to fall rather unconsciously upon Blaze. He just sagged, like an old doll tossed across the room, into the blood he had caused to churn from her before settling into a pile on the ground. The girl, who had been thinking about ways to kill herself after this if she happened to be left alive, could only blink with eyes unseeing. She hadn't expected a rescue. This was bloody Tortuga, honor was left with the whores between the sheets, apparently someone hadn't gotten the memo.

The sound of soft-leather boots broke the deafening silence as the figure moved into the light. Lou. She gave Jack's ribs a soft kick to make sure he had been pistol-whipped into oblivion. Using a gun as a club was the ultimate way to use a gun… other than shooting it. "Are ye okay, Blaze?" Lou stepped over his limp body and checked over the torture wounds that Blaze had been inflicted with. They weren't that bad, really, though she kept that fact to herself. She smiled in a motherly down at Blaze. She bent down and ripped off a sleeve of jack's white linen shirt. It looked decently clean. She split the cloth a little so that it would last longer and wrapped it tightly and neatly around the wound. "Are ye okay, Blaze?" She voiced the question again with a soft tone careful not to disturb the younger woman if she had drifted into shock.

"I think I will-- I just… I just don't understand why all of this be happenin'." Before Lou could even plan on what to do the girl had flung herself on her and wrapped her arms about her. The warmth and salty smell of tears would be embedded in the neck of her blouse. The salt of tears and the sea weren't really that different though. It would fade after her first trip on the waves. Awkwardly she patted Blaze attempting to hush the pitiful thing. Some women could handle the throws of battle and others could not, apparently, Blaze was of the second type.

With a petting motion Lou smoothed out the tangles from the now loose, straight brown hair next to her own light curly. It had been in a beautiful bun, but apparently buns and brick don't agree with one another. "I know ye don't." She hugged her for a little while longer before continuing. "I know ye don't, luv, but I don't 'ave time to explain everything right now. We 'ave to leave; 'e 'asn't come alone." Louene felt the shaking of the other woman's head under her chin. It was rather childish of her, it was, to want to sit here and await there doom. After all, Jack would wake up and she had nothing but a small knife. Although that knife would be enough against most pirates she needed a bit more security when fighting another lord. Lord's tended to have a bit more cunning than the other brainless bunch. "We 'ave to go, gel."

Blaze exploded out of her hold leaving nothing but the wet of tears on Lou's neck. "WHY?! Why do I 'ave to do anything other than walk back into Steven's tavern and 'ide? Tell me why I must." She was suddenly angry and hurt and tired. It was like she had forgotten whom had been holding her only moments before, comforting her.

"They will come after ye, right now, Blaze. They think ye 'ave something very valuable, and they will keep coming until ye are really, really, really dead, not just in that brothel on the other side of this wall. They will kill ye without a second thought, do ye understand me? That is why you must come with me. I will take ye tah Nassau Port, I know someone there strong enough to 'ide and protect ye until 'e decides ye can return 'ome… 'ere… whatever this place be to ye. It will not be for very long, and I am sure when ye return Steven will still 'ave the job open for ye. This is the safest way, ye 'ave to understand."

Blaze did understand. She could see the fire of friendship, of a need to protect, and of -- something that could have been regret burning in Lou's blue-green eyes. This was all for her. Lou was going out of her way, when she didn't have to, to save her because they were friends. Letting out a long sigh while thinking how much easier it had been two days ago, Blaze walked over back to Lou and took her hand. She could hear each of her steps echo off of the walls and fade into eternity. She would remember this moment forever; she knew it. "Let's go."

A pig walked up the alley and laid down next to Jack. The girls, despite the seriousness of the situation, let out an amused chuckle at the sight. Pigs attracted their own kind.

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**A/N: **Remeber!! **REVIEW!** and something else to remember. **REVIEW!!!** and a third thing! **I am looking for a new beta.** Thanks for reading guys! 3

**Thanks: **This will start to be personalized, due to the fact that ... it's a rule. CHECK YOUR PM BOX!

paineAPPLE


	6. A Funny Kind of Redemption

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… (heart) yay!

**Author Notes: **You are very bad children to not review. You should. I have about 550!!!!! hits, yet... only 6 reviews. **Review, review, review, review, review. SODDING REVIEW PLZKTHX!!!** Don't make me sad; I live for feedback. **If you review I might give you a reward... like influencing PLOT! or inserting your own SONG! or doing anything... just review?! **Oh, last but not least, I am looking for a new _**Beta**_. My old one got a job... we should cry and be emo about it. If you are interested and qualified hit me with a PM or e-mail or whatever.

_**I LOVE SHADOWCAT! THANK YOU FOR REVIEWING... so much.**_

**Pirate Quote! **_where is the **thump-thump**?  
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**Also. **if you would like to talk to me about the fic, or anything really, I am contactable through MSN messenger. "xx(underscore)cobriana. Please, add me. does the feedbackwhore dance

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**H e a r t I n A H e a d l o c k**

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The port of Tortuga, the pirate capital of the Spanish main, was one of the most dangerous places in the entire world. Not because the people there happen to be worse than everywhere else. It wasn't some colossal flock of inbred, disgusting, moral-less ingrates. No, the people in Tortuga were exactly the same as everywhere else in the world: there are some that are bad, some that are really, really bad, and some that are not so bad as the others. What made this port-town something special in the ways of debauchery and wrongdoing was the rate in which the more wicked of individuals happen to be accepted by the general populace. Pirates, thieves, rapists, the undead, homosexuals, -- all manners of outcasts, really -- they made their home here and their living by staying down and out of as much trouble as possible. All they want to do is live, and living normally stopped when you started sticking your nose into other people's business; Justice has a way of making you get noticed. To live, and to make a bit of profit along the way, that was a Tortegean's true quest.

Lou was just trying to live. Well, she _had_ just been trying to live up until a few weeks ago. That was before dreams of fire had filled all of her thoughts and left no space for her pretending, her acting, her "just living." It had been almost three years, her just getting by, working at the Gilded Garter, which Steven McCook, an old friend of hers, had opened just to give her a place to sing. All of this time she had given little to no thought to all of the sailors that had died, practically at her hand, or to the flames or to snake-slitted eyes. In a way, Lou had been colorblind for these three years. She knew the basics, black, white; shadow and light; the moon from the sun; but… but she had held no sense of flavor; rum hadn't burnt and cigars had been idle smoke. She had been numb to the tattooing effects of life, the imprints it left on you, Louene Rivera had been a ghost.

Something had died with her when her ship had been hijacked and then ruined. Something had died within her… Yet, like a phoenix, the fire would give her a new life. A life that would let her deliver pain to those that had one brought it.

So, without much thought to the dancing friends who thought they knew everything about her, but really knew nothing, she had organized her own escape. An escape from this rut. She had taken the one dress that would fit her perfectly, like her own would, and stolen back from the dark-wooded shop what she had given the clerk years ago. It had been to ensure her own safety, giving it away. She had told the clerk to sell it, but he had held onto to whatever reason and now he faced the punishment. It was his own fault for not making his money while he could.

Apparently Lou had blown off a few too many fingers, though. There was a threshold in each person, if you didn't cause enough pain then he wouldn't be scared and keep his trap closed, but if you went to far over that threshold the victim would tell anyone anything in fear that it would happen again. When she had given him the spoon, life had been, life _had_ been, the most important thing to her. Suddenly she had become all about conserving her own existence until death took her and she could be with her men; she had decided to give up, in memory of her men, the sea as a kind of redemption. However, her men would have told her to go kick the guy what did this to them's hairy ass. She had been afraid, not her men, and now it was time to go and do what she had been avoiding.

Lou would use that which he had given her; she would deliver pain.

Somehow Blaze had been able to keep her novice little self from talking up a storm while they moved towards the harbor. Near death, or being thrown into a brothel, experiences were obviously good for the girl, who was probably contemplating what could have happened if she didn't have a friend with a nose for trouble. What she should have been wondering is what would have happened if she didn't have a friend with an incredibly guilty conscious. Louene really did care about Blaze, more than any of the other girls at the tavern, or that she had ever met really; it was just that she had a difficulty with most women. Blaze wasn't a habitual whiner, didn't dote on men like they were pieces of candy and she must try each one before choosing, and she made it a habit of having more than a half-a-lick of sense about her. Still, Lou found herself tiring of the woman a few years younger than herself rather frequently. This was one of those moments.

Her eyes, big and light brown, were constantly on her in this doe, "please-make-it-all-right!" way. It was maddening. Half of Lou very strongly desired to tell the girl to look at her own hands if she simply _must_ stare at something, but instead Lou just walked faster. It wasn't her fault, she tried to remind herself, but she didn't entirely believe there could be anyone else to blame.

Her feet, the soft leather of her boots barely audible on the planks, guided her towards where she had tied her boat up; it was dark, so dark that her eyes were practically useless. Blaze followed her without much mishap, except for once when her dress caught on a nail that was sticking out and she ripped a huge chunk of red, blood-stained fabric out of it in her rush to keep up. The "RIIIIP" noise caused Lou to send a piercing glare in the incompetents direction. "Obviously," She turned back around and pressed on, but her voice held more rage than most would ever thought possible for a whisper. Any good captain could hold a sense of anger at any decibel. "even some human bein's be havin' problems wiff walkin' right-up." Blaze lowered her eyes timidly but kept walking forward until she was practically glued to Lou's back. Funny how gingerly some acted after being scared shitless. Lou had never been the kind to act like this… she had only gone from angry to pissed off when interrogated, tortured, whatever the day called for.

A twenty-two foot boat with a single mast was bobbing with the ebb and flow of the black waves beneath it. The water rippled and attempted to catch light that wasn't there. It looked like a finely cut onyx, only reflecting more blackness onto the owner. The dingy wasn't very impressive to someone who knew nothing about them, but to someone who did, like Lou, she knew she had gotten a bargain for her money. It was a bit shallower on the draft and had a good stable build. Yes, it had been an exceptional find. Lou hopped from the dock into the vessel without much thought, these types of things, how to correctly place her foot so she would be stable, were memories long conserved in her muscle tissue and heart. It was like bringing an old friend back to life. She began pulling on a few lines, fully preparing and checking all of the rigging. Blaze made to follow her but obviously thought better of it, because she sat down on the bit of the dock nearest the dingy seconds later. Apparently the ruby-dressed dancer was more than content with staying out of Lou's way as she did whatever she needed to. She had taken the reprimand to heart.

Lou climbed without any aid from footholds or rope up the mast. She had to have something to her advantage on a ship ton of good men twice her size; speed and agility and parlor tricks of great aerodynamics were her type of advantages. She secured the cables, tightened the lashings, and checked the wind… all seemed proper. For a moment she just watched the waves rolling out far beyond all of them. The lamps on the shore to alert sailors of the island's location gave her enough light to see if any boats were there to get in her way while she was leaving. However, it looked like there wouldn't be any huge windblocks as she left. Good news. Jumping back down into the main bed of the ship she let loose the canvas. It dropped and hung properly. Lou reached her hand out intending for Blaze to take it.

They were ready to leave.

"Ye leavin' already, gel, without comin' to say goodbye?" That voice. Shivers literally crawled up and down her back. She glanced, absently, from the yellow-white eyes that shone in the darkness to the sails of her dingy. There were two huge diagonal slashes ruining them; useless, they were bloody useless now and without them so was her escape. The old man had bloody one-upped her. She was trapped.

"'ow the 'ell did ye know; 'ow did ye find me, Hector?" Blaze had already stood up and was now looking down the end of this obvious pirate's pistol. Today was definitely not that girl's day. A second later she was wrapped up by his arm and held in front of himself like a shield. He was wary of her knives; he was a smart man, too bloody smart for his own good. Unfortunately for him though, his head was still exposed. She took note of it.

Barbossa's only answer was to smirk pompously at her. He knew that he had won this battle. Every single cell in Lou's body was shaking from anger. Of course Jack hadn't come alone, she had said it herself, but she hadn't know that Hector Barbossa and Jack Sparrow did anything together anymore other than fight. Working together against her shouldn't have even been possible let alone happened. Her curly locks blew into her face, but she made no move to pull them out. "I need the spoon." Lou frowned at him.

A deep frown, a scowl, one that encompassed all motherly dislike of her child. Barbossa was definitely not her own offspring, good lord her was a decade or two her senior, but this wickedness she had once contributed to. "Ye do not. Ye want it, as everyone else does, but that doesn't mean ye 'ave any right to claim it as yer own." Blaze was one the verge of hyperventilating. The older man followed her eyes down to the zoned out, already bleeding, held to gun point girl; his solution was to shake her out of her stupor and give her a disapproving look. Surprisingly, it worked; Blaze ceased all attention-seeking behavior after that.

He gave Lou a smile one that showed teeth and everything. He was apparently amused by her retort. His ringed finger came to rest on the pistol's lever, her eyes followed it the threat was understood, and his smile became cruel. Blaze couldn't get her brains blown out by this man on the slimy dock of Tortuga. No, they both weren't mean to end in this rum-soaked land and so they would leave now together someway. "Where it be, gel." She had to tell him something; Barbossa wouldn't have himself diverge from the point.

"I don't 'ave it 'nymore; ye are botherin' the wrong person. I might be trying to get away from him, that's why I be leaving, 'cause I've been 'ere too long. 'e 'as it if 'nyone does." She was slow with her words, choosing the lie carefully. Barbossa was a hard one to lie to, but if he knew no better than this would be easy enough. The wind shifted, the sails fluttered depressingly, and the boat rocked a bit, but even as she shifted instinctively with the boat her gaze on his large, yellowish eyes didn't waiver and neither did her resolve. The dock itself creaked ominously as the direction of the whitecaps turned out of her favor; all hope was officially gone if mother nature had turned against her as well.

"Snake-eye?" He had taken the bite, thank God. A sigh of relief was barely caught in her throat. Obviously Lou had been out of the loop for far too long, her emotions were far to easily perceived now. Her fingers pulled down the bottoms of her shorts a little finding them a little too short when Barbossa let his vision slip. She felt like a whore when he looked at her like that, a few too many near-rapes had made her wary of those kind of looks. Men were on the ships without women for a long, long time, she almost didn't blame them for their actions, but it was hard for her to use desire as an excuse of bad behavior, but she made no mention of it, not when things were going her way.

"Aye, 'e 'as it." Barbossa looked out at the sea behind her obviously sensing the storm coming just as she had. Thinking of his ship and crew, the two things she had lost, and what he should prepare to do on the morrow. His eyes drifted back down to her, she could see the gears turning behind his eyes.

"Is that so?" His muscles tightened a little. The movement was miniscule but led to a slight rise of his brow. She knew the look. It caused her to swallow hard.

Lou could tell it was meant rhetorically but her mouth opened on it's own to immediately quip back, "It be so." Trying to sound final, hoping that he would just walk away, but knowing, deep down, that this would already not work.

"Then, answer me this, Missy, why would 'e be lookin' for ye and something that 'e already 'as?" He had just been pulling her chain, seeing the pull of her conscious. Waiting to see if she would lie to know if he could ever trust her again. Apparently, she had failed the test and would probably never be trusted by her own sea-mate again. He had caught her and now knew she had it, or at least knew where it was. If he knew that it was on her he probably would have already killed her. "Do not try to toy with me, E'Louene Vera. That be what ye go by these days, isn't it?" The tone of his voice was more condescending than an spoiled, piece-of-shit older brother talking to his younger sibling.

She snarled. Putting all her distaste for the scraggly-bearded man in front of her into a single guttural noise. Her own hand flew to her belt where her knives were and clutched it tightly. It had been a while since she had used them for what they had originally been intended. A gift from a friend in Singapore, the only thing she had left to remember him by anymore. "I will always, _always_ be Captain Lou Rivera, and ye'd do well to remember it, sailor!" Her voice was much louder than she had expected it would be. Almost everyone these days had heard the story, used it to hush the gutter children, entice a bar wench, or ease the burn of rum. More than a few ears perked up at the sound of the infamous name. She had damned herself. If someone saw her than everything, all her trials and laying low, would be for naught.

Barbossa gave a nod of concession. She was a capable pirate and sailor, far more so than most any man he had ever seen in his entire life. Hard-working, dedicated, smart, hard, and passionate about all things to do with the sea and her tossing waves. Something inside of Barbossa wanted nothing more than to just grab Lou and take her with him to the Pearl. Work out some accord of equal profit. It is rare when you can look back at a blood-thirty past and find one moment of innocence and brightness. His time aboard the Widow was that. They were pirates, yes, but then there had been honor in it. Power in the amount of loyalty you held, not the other way around. It had been a different time, but he wasn't necessarily sure if it had been so much better than how he was living now.

He had been young, well, relatively so anyway. It had been just past his twenty-ninth year and had been hand-picked by Captain Ghost Conurei himself for his "honest nature" of all things. Appearing on such an infamous pirate vessel he was looking forward to just doing the duties he enjoyed and serving such a grand captain, and so he did them and so he served; however, after a raid of a small settlement on Nassau the captain brought back a girl. She had been horribly skinny and shy, Barbossa had barely believed that she was in fact a human being and not some zombie there to feed on them. Funny how things turn out. Damn, no one could quite understand how glorious living could be until they hadn't had it for such a long time.

Zombies. Both of them had been zombies, just in different ways. "Tell me, Captain, Is it worth more than her life?" He pulled back the lever. Never gain would Barbossa allow himself to be lowered to that level. Never again would he let someone take his own destiny in their hands. He had lost all will to trust, and sometimes… in the darkness… it hurt to realize that. There was a click from the gun, the lever secured, ready to kill Blaze, throughout the dock area. It echoed loudly inside of Lou's head; she was sure that those people two or three rows over could hear it. Hear it threatening her and Blaze and the new life that she had promised to start.

Lou looked at Blaze a long time, thinking… evaluating. It felt like a long time, anyway, but it had probably not been more than ten or fifteen seconds. "Tell him." She was quiet but sure of herself, attempting to reason with a would-be friend; however, she would be okay, Lou was sure of it. "This cannot be worth more than my life, Louene. Tell him." Here was another choice, another rock and another hard spot. Hadn't this been, essentially, already played out three and a half years ago… except bigger. The choice here was the same. The pull and strain of different responsibilities. She had made a promise to guard and protect two different things. They were both in situations where giving them over would leave them helpless. She had to choose.

… but there wasn't even a choice to make. "It is, Rose." She looked down at the surface of the boat for a second. When she looked back up at Barbossa and Rosalie, Blaze, Lou was firm. "It is more important than him, you, or me, and I cannot allow it to become tainted. I am sorry that you are stuck in this, and I pray they spare you, but you aren't enough… too many have died for it already for me to just hand it over now." During her little speech, she had started edging backward, but her passionate, musical voice had kept Barbossa distracted just long enough.

Her foot caught on the wooden, raised railing of the boat. She let herself go, no tightening of the muscles or resistance. "Please, forgive me." The words were soft, breathy, and if it hadn't been for the wind probably unheard. Blaze felt the burn of betrayal.

As Lou began to fall backwards Barbossa lifted the gun away from Blaze's forehead and pointed it towards the water, but Lou was speed personified. Her knife had already been let loose. It took out his large felt hat and pinned it to the side of the boat behind him. She hit the water half a second later and let her body drift noiselessly to the bottom of the ocean. Hector fired a few shots into the depths but highly doubted he hit anything but that big damned puddle they called the ocean. "Damn," he muttered to the wind. How was she so slippery? He had cornered her and yet still the woman got away completely unharmed. Although he shouldn't have been surprised, running away was a pirate's specialty.

Blaze looked up at him with big eyes, doe eyes. They begged for her not to be harmed and that was the only thing Barbossa wanted to do with them. Kill, shed blood, relieve some of this stress and frustration inside him, but he thought better of it. His hand unwrapped from around her the muscles aching to be stretched, but a second later he wrapped his hand around her throat. For a second he was sure he saw something akin to relief in those eyes. No, he just wasn't that kind of guy. Rosalie Hawkings tried to breath around the obstruction but only got a wheeze in and out. Her eyes were dancing wildly around in panic. Would she die here, now, at the hands of a psycho, because of something Lou had or hadn't done? No, she would find her own avenue to secure her safety. Hector, this man, would not kill her easily. One of her hands, seemingly with ideas of it's own, raked down the side of his face. She could feel the skin beneath her short nails. He wouldn't take her easily, she would fight.

Hector felt surprised for the second time in five minutes. This little slip of a girl, who had been so meek throughout all of this, dared to… scratch him? He slapped her, not very hard considering he still had her in his grasp and he didn't want to cause himself pain, but hard enough to show her that was a very bad idea. Her face whipped to the side, her cheek turned a cherry red to match her dress, and she could taste a metallic something in her mouth. "I would not be doin' that if I were you, lass." The stare he settled on her then was far more intimidating than any strike could have been.

Blaze wanted to crawl inside her own skin and hide. Hide away from the harshness of reality. There had to be someway out of all of this. "What would you 'ave me do then? There must be somethin' worth the value of me life I could offer." She hadn't meant it in any seductive kind of way, but the way the old bloke made her realize that was being taken into consideration. Somehow everything had gone full circle to her offering her body to a not-so-desirable seadog. It's ironic the way the world turns upon itself.

Something inside Barbossa clicked. Lou would still be leaving, not in this boat, and not under his watch, but she would be leaving. Leaving to go to the same place she had been intending to go before their little interlude. All he had to do was know where she was going. There was still a chance. "There be only one thing I want from ye." The way she closed her eyes and prayed that it wasn't what she thought it would be was rather annoying. Hector thought about toying with her just because of it, but opted for the fiscal profit. "Where was Lou going?"

"Ye will let me live if I tell you?"

"Aye, on me honor as a pirate." The girl gave him a 'yeah, right.' look that could have showed even the most sarcastic of looks a thing or two. "… and on me love for the sea." Blaze looked a little more secure with that, but only a very little bit.

"Nassau Port. She was going to someone strong enough to watch over me for a while." Barbossa was blinded by the obviousness of the choice. Of course she was going back to the one person who had loved her more than his own son. Her financial backer, her would-be paternal figure… of course. Normally he would have doubted this Blaze, Rose, whoever she was, a little more, but it made sense. Still, he wasn't just going to let her go run away back to her little tavern.

"Very well, let's go."

The girl erupted into a fit screaming of honor and things promised, but Hector just continued onward dragging her along behind himself. The rowboat they had brought to shore from the Pearl was but a few dozen yards away. "Ye bloody promised on yer love for the sea." He rolled his eyes; it was embarrassing for her to be shrieking so unladylike.

"Aye, that I did, but all I promised ye was yer life… that you continue to have, but not very much longer if ye don't bloody hush. As for yer release, you were mum to the conditions of yer livelihood so I will continue to hold that much of ye in my hands." After his quiet declaration Blaze settled down a little, but refused to walk normally… making him pull her along after himself. It was like dealing with a child, he wanted very much to slap her around a bit more so maybe she would learn some manners.

Robert, Mack, and Gibbs… and Jack whom had dozed off on the floor of the small boat, were all waiting for him to see how he faired. He neared, red temptress in tow, and they let out a hoot of supposed victory. Jack opened one of his eyes and righted himself due to all of the noise. When he saw Blaze with Barbossa a scowl of disapproval tore across his lips. Blaze tried her best to hide behind Barbossa, but it did little good, because he kept moving around.

"So ye got her, did ye?" Jack asked in quiet defeat.

"I got something', but this gel is _not_ Lou Rivera. She knows nothing of the spoon." Robert had the decency to help the unwilling girl onto the small craft after Barbossa slid easily onboard.

"Then why do ye 'ave 'er, then?" He looked rather sulky for a pirate captain.

"'cause she knows someone who does."

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**A/N: **Remeber!! **REVIEW!** and something else to remember. **REVIEW!!!** and a third thing! **I am looking for a new beta.** Thanks for reading guys! 3 

**Thanks: **This will start to be personalized, due to the fact that ... it's a rule. CHECK YOUR PM BOX!

paineAPPLE

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	7. pickled beginnings

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… (heart) yay!

**Author Notes: ** **I am so close to 10 reviews. Please, please, please review!! Also, Thanks for so many people reading, even if you haven't be reviewing. I still appreciate it! _Review, read, and keep enjoying it, guys!!_**

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**Pirate Quote! **_Is the jar of dirt going to 'elp?  
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**Also. **if you would like to talk to me about the fic, or anything really, I am contactable through MSN messenger. "xxcobriana. Please, add me. does the feedbackwhore dance

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**H e a r t I n A H e a d l o c k  
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Stowing away on a ship isn't entirely an easy process, but not impossible if you have the correct attributes. You must be rather small and plain, easy to blend in with the low lives of the crew who drift on and off the ship. Also, there must be more than an empty hole upon your shoulders, without the common sense to hide and to be hidden you surely will be discovered and, depending on the crew, killed or worse. It is also a game of luck, stowing away, if you choose to hide amongst the powder and the ship falls prey, or preys, to pirates, then you will be found; however, generally, it is smarter to hide there than amongst the rum. Never hide amongst the rum.

Lou was good at sneaking on ships. She knew the way they worked, the functions of most captains, and the way to use those to her advantage, but… The Pearl was nearly impossible. It's men were on half-shifts, someone always moving, orders came from two captain who were in constant disagreement. It was chaos, a type of chaos that does not lend itself to weaknesses, which is quite assuredly rare but definitely possible. It was easy to tell which orders were Barbossa's, very straight forward and cutting, they were harsh in appearance as he was, but really just trying to get the most out of what he was given. A good man, not as honest as most, but nonetheless a good man… Jack's orders were so roundabout. They told Lou enough of the man's personality to realize she cared even less for him than she thought she did.

After over half a day of hiding, of clinging, to the front, sides, and rigging of a ship Lou felt like she had been in retirement far too long. Her arms and legs ached in ways she couldn't remember them ever hurting before, her hands were pruned and bloated from the stress and salt, her hair was windblown but held in a high pony-tail by a piece of thick leather, stray curls falling around her face to frame it, and she had several extremely uncomfy cramps located in her buttocks. In short, she looked and felt a far cry away from the woman who yesterday sang at the Gilded Garter. Once again, in a loose linen shirt that was open to her heart and a pair of tight riding britches, she was the feared femme fatale, Lou Rivera, here to use ass and to later kick it.

"Never, Lou, never allow yourself to talk yourself into hiding aboard a vessel ever again, alright?" She wasn't even really listening to herself though, stuck behind a very foul smelling barrel of what was probably pickled -- feet. Her head was constantly showered, with every rock of the boat, with liquid from someplace, that someplace she sincerely hoped was not the barrel. Pickled feet just couldn't be the right cologne for her, no matter how grungy her inner-pirate told her to become. A sigh brought her the stench of vinegar. This time, when she thought to herself, don't you ever stow away again, she heard herself. Body, soul, she decided she hated the Pearl, or at least the galley of it.

Jack Sparrow. Somehow he had been the cause of all of this. In a way, really, she was to blame. Louene got involved because of her choices, and, although the girl had chosen to leave with him of her own free will, she was beginning to regret almost all of them. If she had left Blaze there than she probably would have done fine. There, of course, was no real way to ensure that, but with Lou she was definitely facing danger. A possible danger was far less dangerous in actuality than an already noticeably dangerous one, or that was how the guilt inside of Lou rationalized it all out. She beat her head against her knees, legs held in close to her chest trying to keep her mass as compact as possible, and cursed a certain freedom-obsessed individual. However, if she had known exactly what was occurring directly above her head at that precise moment, Lou would have been exceptionally more perturbed at our Captain Sparrow, so upset in fact that his state of living would have most likely been severely retarded by a knife or two.

Unfortunately for the ex-pirate turned pirate again, she hadn't been quite as sneaky as she thought when entering the current hubby in which she was staying. Who would want to fiddle with pickled pig parts? Mister Gibbs is the answer to that question. The old, badger-like individual had an uncanny love for all kinds of salty pork and had sent young Mack to procure some for him. It was a simple trek that the boy took quite frequently for the older gentleman, always ready to get a head by any brown-nosing methods possible.

And so the lad had stood on the other side of the barrel ready to pop the lid off as gently as possible, grab the meat, and run away as quickly as possible from the horrid smell. He had been waiting for the rocking of the boat to subside a little, which was definitely good, because as he had stood there, he heard a pitiful, soft sigh from the floor on the other side of the box. His mouth had opened wide, about to tell the pitiful weasel on the floor to get his arse up before he tore it off, Mack was known for such bouts of eloquence, but before he got a chance the figure had spoken. No, this definitely wasn't some lazy crewman, some childish whelp, this -- this was the bloody enemy. He had briefly met Cap'n Rivera, although, he hadn't known at the time that she had been the fanciful character of whom he had heard stories. She had been a bar wench to him, cheeky and very pretty, but not very important. Something the young boy had never felt before bubbled greatly, a timidness, a want to keep safe, he knew there was no way he would call her out. He wanted to, he told himself to, but he knew he would never hurt such a broken-winged butterfly. Slowly he formed a plan for his songstress, a plan to keep her free and fluttering in the sea breeze. Without question, he would be sabotaging his own ship unless he went and made it known to the Captain. He would have to, but he would have to go with such a thought that the bloke would see as he did, do as he willed, and allowed the girl to keep herself free.

Jack was luckily, for everyone, quite a rational person. When Mack had come and told him the news immediately he had wanted to swoop her up and lock her away in the brig. It would certainly be okay to just lock her away until they got to port, right? No, he thought of the account Barbossa had told of his brief encounter with the girl, no, she would not allow herself to be kept locked up with that Blaze lass. She would escape and run so far that he would have absolutely no idea of where she had gone.

Mack stood in front of his Captain, who was leaning back in his chair feet on the large circular, ebony-wooded table before him, and waited for him to come to some sort of decision. Much to his displeasure he found his hands fraying the already broken fabric at the bottom of his vest, a nervous tendency that he had made himself stop. How could such a slip of a woman, one far more rough than what he would have normally described as alluring, be able to affect him so much. His boyish heart was actually worried about her. Something inside of him wanted to keep her protected and that part of himself refused to be ignored.

"What would ye suggest be done 'bout this little dilemma ye 'ave brought before me, young Master Mack?" Jack fixed a darkly shaded eye on the boy, calculating his response. He turned his head just slightly to the side, offering the boy a view more of the underside of his chin than of his face, and awaited an answer. There was a silence in the air that very thick feeling.

Mack himself didn't know what to bloody think. The Captain was giving him a chance to effect his decision. It was unlike him, stranger than usual, to give anyone else a say in his own actions and opinions. Immediately he wanted to pour out his opinions. That they should leave the girl be, let her follow her own course, and seek an alternate way to profit, another treasure more valuable than her own. They needed something grander than whatever she had! He opened his mouth for the second time today, and… again he hesitated. There was something in Jack's eyes, dark and brooding like the storm clouds they had left only a few days ago, that made him choose what to say more carefully. "I - - I fink, I fink t'would be bettah if we let 'er remain on board unawares of our knowledge, C-Cap'n." His eyes fluttered from the man in front of him, the seasoned sailor who he adored, to the floor boards.

"Aye, Mack, yer choice be a wise one." Mack looked up his eyes wide with shock. The candlelight made him look far younger than he actually was, the light giving his skin a tender glow. Yes, he had made a good choice just for the incorrect reason. "We were goin' to Tortuga to find the girl, but it seems she 'as saved us the trouble. It would be a shame to waist all of 'er 'ard work for a little stab at her ego. She will stay 'ere, Mack, and ye will do duty of watchin' 'er until we make port, savvy?" Jack turned his attention back to the long pages of archaic drawing and long lost languages, the boy excused. He had no idea that Jack intended to, if there ever be a need for it, turn the ship over to him. No, Mack was far too busy pleasing him to notice that he already was, but all things, Jack figured, were for a purpose. He waited until the boy had let the door quietly shut behind himself before cracking a toothy grin of conquest, a plan, slightly revised but a plan nonetheless, was already in motion.

The trip to Nassau had been even quicker thanks to some favorable winds and light canvas, but it definitively hadn't been fast enough for Lou who had been hidden behind multiple foul smelling food products, most of which she didn't even want to know what they were. Though there were a few things to be thankful for, one was the light trafficking through her area of the ship. It was almost like the crew was attempting to stay away, but, she rationalized, that was probably just her inner paranoia coming out. She needed to plan and think and move, not be so held underfoot that she would die, remaining in almost the same place -- except for very small break periods in the thick of night in which she would gather food and other supplies for her voyage after they made port -- for close to five days they had sailed nonstop and finally she could hear screams of land-ho!

A part of her knew that it was assuming too much to suddenly rise from her spot and head towards he brig. They would notice someone with such a white shirt and tight britches, wouldn't they? It was a sign of some money and pirates made notice of any money at all. It came with the "obsessed with treasure" part of the job. No one liked to face up to it at first, but after all while it becomes a noticeable fact, something that you just have to deal with or die. She chose to deal with it. Her knees popped loudly, her ankles creaked like an old woman's, and she felt her back shiver from the pain of long-unmoved muscles. After so much stress a part of Lou was surprised she didn't just fall apart at the first attempt to move. Stowing away simply sucked, she should have just made herself known and had the full stretching room that the galley allowed.

The crew was busy running around and doing the Captain's orders. They barely even tossed her a glance. She had packed inside of her clothes a few necessary supplies to make them look a tad larger, and take away the otherwise necessary satchel that would have definitely made her stick out even more. It was simple enough to dodge the running mutts as they dotted around to make sure everything was secure and ready for making port. They ignored her and she watched them, it was perfect, as if she had choreographed every little detail… except she hadn't. It was pleasant to say the least as she moseyed her way down the large open rooms that led her way to the brig. Normally men, especially men who had been forced to go without, of smelling a woman that was around them, not literally… she didn't wear any perfume or similar bottles of extravagance, nor did she smell badly compared to those around her. They were sensitive to her femininity, she supposed, because although she wasn't a prim thing in Port Royale or on Nevis that definitely didn't mean she was a man.

No, normally they would have caught her, but she waived away the itching suspicions riding up her spine. It was probably just that the guys were looking forward to the gels on the shore. They weren't expecting one to be here. Yes, that made plenty of sense, Lou nodded to herself as she ducked her head and slid through one of the small chamber doors. The dark wood of the Pearl creaked angrily. You could almost hear the words in the sound; she obviously knew of Lou's unwanted presence. Jack, she supposed, did have some reasons to be proud of such a dark beauty. From the shadows she searched the room for any guards. None. She again thanked the goddesses of fortune for their fair winds.

Although there were no guards stationed to watch over the occupied cage the red heap on the ground would not allow itself to be ignored. Blaze looked utterly broken. She sat with her back to the wooden hull of the ship, facing the bars, her face lifted to the heavens with her eyes closed. She must have been praying, Lou realized. A savage creature tore away at her gut; how had she let the girl, her friend, turn out like this. Her dress was torn, black grim smeared her face and arms, and dried blood crusted over her collarbone and bust. She looked raw and hurt and Lou wanted very much to save her from ever looking as such again. There had been some doubts about her decisions earlier, but what had been done -- was done. They were bloody here now and Louene would save Rosalie if it was the last thing she forced herself to do.

"'ello, Rosie." It is impossible to say what happened more quickly, the opening of the light brown eyes of the bubbling of the anger within them. She certainly wasn't going to just 'live and let live' now was she. No, it definitely looked like she wanted Lou to die and just let her die, after that I guess Rosalie would have had to think of some plans to deal with a squadron of angry pirates, but at least the momentary satisfaction would have been worth it. For a second Lou wondered if she should have slid more cordially into conversation, ask her how she was - despite the fact it was clearly visible - or something like that.

Fixing an angry set of eyes on Lou's frame, which stood by the door half-concealed in shadows, Rosalie was clearly not in the mood for any sort of endearment. Straight, dark brown hair framed her face and made her look a tad bit more menacing than she normally did -- which was not at all. "'ow dare ye waltz up intah 'ere, Vera. Ye 'ave forsaken me already, or did ye forget? Don't ye remember leavin' me with naught but a soddin' daft, maniacal, rum soak'd pirate?! It be yer fault; without ye I'd be back at the pub doin' a numb'r wiff the lasses!" She was slowly rising to her feet, each syllable gaining in volume, and, Lou realized, they would soon be discovered if nothing was done soon. Anger and guilt swelled within her, made her turn defensive instead of meek, and she, with long, silent strides, approached the side of her little monkey's cage.

No matter how much it hurt Lou had forced all her pirating inside for three years, three inescapably long years. She had done it, in many ways, to herself, but that hadn't made the punishment any more bearable. Hiding who you are, changing how you perceive yourself, it was a very scary thing for her. Now, though, back on the shifting wood of a ship, Louene was shocked to find just how easy it was to morph back into the captain she had once been. Stopping at the bars, eyes indifferent and yet harsh and cutting, no part of Lou would accept such impertinence from someone stationed below the bloody galley. "Ye, girl, do not know what ye speak. I dove into the water, aye, but what makes ye think I went anywhere. I was beneath the bloody boards of the dock listening to yer conversation. I know what you said. I knew what 'ector would do, but I waited to ensure ye be safe. Now… was that quite all?" Her voice had gone from angry to matter-of-fact to flat and uninterested without being within the reach of anyone on the entire floor other than Rosalie. Lou certainly was good at what she did.

Rosalie hadn't been expecting that. The fire faded from her eyes and she just looked at Lou, taking in her displeased demeanor, the way nothing gave away any sense of falsity. She was telling the truth and had just been wrongly accused by one of her best mates, one of her best mates that she was going through the trouble of saving from blood-thirty pirates. Rosalie's mouth opened, attempting to apologize, but instead all she could say was, "O-oh?" It wasn't very impressive at all, but Lou seemed to accept it as an apology, or perhaps didn't need one.

With quick, precise motions, Lou plucked the key off of the wall of the brig. You would think that after Elizabeth and the crew stole the boat from Barbossa, the bloody pirates would have learned not to keep the key in such plain sight. You never knew who was lingering in the darkness. However, very few people ever thought of the deep belly of their home as caution worthy. No, they didn't even have anyone watching the girl, their prize. Lou smirked roguishly proud to have gotten this far, been undiscovered, it felt good to still be the best of the best. The key clicked appropriately, the door swung forward, and Lou stepped inside the small cell. From the billowing folds of her clothing she pulled out another shirt, pair of pants, vest, and a few other items obviously meant for Blaze. "You 'ad bettah 'urry gel; we 'ave a boat to catch. A very small window of opportunity and you can't be dressed like…" Lou waved her hands at Blaze as an explanation. "Well, like that and get overboard."

They smelled far worse than any other clothes she had ever held in her entire life, worse than any whore at any tavern. It was disgusting. Rosalie looked up at Lou begging with her eyes to not have to do this, but the woman wasn't even paying attention to her. After exiting the stall Lou had gone over to the port hole, stuck her head out of it looking up at something. A shiver ran down Rosalie's back, it wasn't right. This woman was so very different from the girl she had grown to know at the Gilded Garters. The girl she had known was timid, sweet-tempered, a pleasure to be around. They had fit quite well together, and Rose had always assumed she had came from a similar background. I mean, she could talk politely, wear a dress like any noblewoman. Yet, all of that, she now understood, had been a façade. This was the real Lou; this was Captain Lou Rivera. The one from the stories she had heard from her father before he had died, she was feared and terrible. Was it possible that these two were one in the same? Rose shook her head, trying to shake these thoughts away, there was no time for thoughts like these now. Wrinkling her nose against the foul smell of the clothes she was putting on she changed as quickly as possible.

Pulling herself back from inside the brig Lou fixed her gaze on Blaze. She was passable: the pants too large so they hid her fine dancers form, her shirt old and thin under a vest that hid the rest of her curves. Lou took off the hat she had been planning to wear and tossed it towards her. "Tuck yer hair under it, looks far too fine for any scallywag to ever be blessed wi'f." It would be easy enough to escape by herself. She had a strong form and could definitely swim the four or five hundred meters to the beach; she had done it before. Lou eyed the dancer. She was an athlete, in shape, but swimming stressed different areas of you that dancing could never touch. Jumping in the ocean with Rosalie would probably end with her at the ocean. No, that wouldn't work at all.

The hat was on, they were ready, in a sense, to go forth and journey onward. Lou, shoulders square but relaxed, let one eye drift over Rosalie. "Ye must do everything I say, no matter what I say. If ye do not, chances are, ye will die. Understood?" She waited for Rosalie to nod and give a meek answer in the affirmative, which the girl did -- her eyes very wide. "Good job, lass. First command, remain absolutely silent, unless, of course, I appear to want you to do otherwise. No screaming, gasping, giggling, or 'ard breathing of any kind." Silence was the answer. A smirk took Lou's lips and she headed out the door towards the back of the ship.

A man passed them, obviously to go check on the prisoner, they kept walking. Stepping with purpose so they would not get stopped. Lou put on the air of knowing where she was going, her head a bit down though to keep it's feminine features from the men around her. It would be bloody horrible to suddenly lose her lovely luck. There was still no guarantee, she had to remind herself, there was no guarantee that they would escape this ship alive. The walked through the floor of the hold, but most of the men were already up on the higher levels of the ship. They had already dropped anchor, she had felt the shudder of the ocean around them. It was about time for their exit. Lou glanced behind her; Rosalie was following her example like a good girl.

Opening the door to the kitchen area Lou found it occupied. It was only a man, but there would be no chances taken. He looked up, settled a heavy eye upon her, but Lou didn't try to hide her face. She smiled. His eyebrow raised and before he could open his mouth to say a word she had reached into her shirt, felt the skin over her ribs, the curved blades that rested there, pulled one of the knives loose, and let it fly. It made it's grave in the man's wind pipe. He tried to scream, it came out as a soft wheeze. A knife was in his hand in another instance, Lou, in a mad dash, was upon him in another second. She had wrenched the blade free of it's confines, severing his artery, but causing light spray. He slumped against the cabinets and tied up barrels as a very, very dead man.

Rosalie was looking at her utterly shocked. No woman, she must have been thinking, should be possible of such destruction. This girl had been raised to become a gentlewoman; Lou couldn't expect her to understand the things that had forced her into this kind of life, to enjoy this kind of life. Turning away from the wide-eyed female, Lou opened one of the wide windows that they placed randomly over the back of the Pearl. Normally she would have scoffed at such extravagance, but she was very pleased with it today. Lou walked over to the cords securing the barrels and began talking all of them off, fastening them together quickly. This, she figured, would be the only way to make sure that her accomplice made it to the water both soundly and soundlessly. After securing and tossing an end out the large window, Lou turned back towards Rosalie. They definitely did not have much time left. "Get down there. I will give ye fifteen seconds before I cut the bloody rope." Blaze took a few timid steps, eyeing the rope like it was about as hazardous as a viper. "One,… two." Once she reached three Lou was already down past the edge of the window and dropping at a pleasantly steady rate. When she reached twenty Lou loosened the rope and let that end fall into the water outside as well. Climbing up into the frame of the window she just sat there for a moment. The sun was setting making the water look darker, like black canvas being painted on with pastels. It was lovely and she made herself memorize the moment while tucking the knife back into her shirt on the delicate under-vest.

Lou's knee's bent. She forced herself upwards in a jump. Her calves strained, her back was stiff, and everything kept moving forward. Reaching the peak, her aerodynamic climax, she allowed herself to fall, body straight as a line, towards the water. Air whipped at her hair, her clothes, billowing around her and through the cotton of the clothing. Everything smelled of the sea. She sucked in a fresh breath of air just as the water touched her fingers, her arms, her head, she fell until completely submerged. It was soundless, graceful, and awe-inspiring. A pirate queen's exit from a fantasy ship.

Surfacing with only a soft suck of sweet air, Lou scanned the surrounding ebb and flow of liquid until she found the other soundless fleck in the dusk light. Lifting a hand from the water she signaled for the confused girl to follow. With strong, clean strokes she pushed through the water, her legs doing most of the work from under the water. She was like a swan, a black swan, rare and gracefully floating along -- but really fiercely kicking beneath the water. Lou held a hand up to signal Rosalie's stop and then whispered in a soft rasp, "watch and then follow." A second later she had sucked in deep breath, every fiber of her lungs completely saturated with air, and was gone under water. There was no shift on the surface, no sign she was even down there. Perhaps she had died, Rose wondered, perhaps she had been knocked unconscious by a shift of the Pearl.

Then, next to the already lowered dingy, where a very small man was holding the boat to the edge, Lou surfaced. She didn't make a sound and kept in the shadow of the small craft far out of the sight of anyone who would be entering the boat as well as those on board. It would be a gamble, Lou knew it, but this would be the only vessel going to the main land from the Pearl. They could not ride in it, but they would use it to save little Rose from a death at the bottom of the crushing blackness. The water beneath her shifted slightly and then she felt, more than heard, Rosalie erupt from beneath the water beside her. A dry inhale sucked in as much air as it could, filling her parched lungs. She was definitely teachable. Her hands grabbed into the wood silently, holding position right next to her commander. Yes, yes, she was definitely teachable.

Many voices were on just the other side of the wood she was clinging too. She heard Barbossa and Jack, both loud and obviously having an argument about status, a parrot that was already in the longboat was squawking loudly, and the hollow suck sound of a cork being pulled from a tightly sealed pocket flask full of rum. It mad her think of her men, of her widow, and made her feel like just what her ship had been named, a white widow. Unwilling to mourn, despite the pain inside, a pretty face, a pretty façade, for a tormented center. Soon, though, this responsibility would be done and she could fall just as they had, as her ship had.

The waves rocked the boat, rocked Lou and Rose clinging desperately to the side, careful to stay towards the rear so they could avoid the oars about to be lowered into the waves around them. Surge after surged lifted and dropped their bodies, twisted their limbs, shoved them gently and not-so-gently into the grain of the wood, until they forgot about it happening all together. Jack ordered his men push off, oars to be lowered, and for them to head towards Nassau. The Pearl had been hidden away in one of the far curves of the island, hidden from the prying eyes of the French and British Navy. Lou prayed that no ship be sent down to the depths due to her actions again. A part of her, a deep fraction, hoped she had not damned them all by alerting God again to her presence.

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**A/N: **Remeber!! **REVIEW!** and something else to remember. **REVIEW!!!** and a third thing! **I am looking for a new beta.** Thanks for reading guys!

**Thanks: **This will start to be personalized, due to the fact that ... it's a rule. CHECK YOUR PM BOX!

paineAPPLE


	8. bang! bang! bang!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, no matter how much I would like to… however, I do own my thoughts and interpretations for a future storyline. xP… (heart) yay!

**Author Notes: **I have reached chapter 8, 10 reviews, and over 1000 hits! This a delightful time for me, which is great because RL had been an uber-bummer. This chapter was nearly named, FLASHBACKFLASHBACKFLASHBACK!! You guys are very lucky that I opted for a more mature name, because we all know I didn't want to. After all, I should have got all of the silliness out last chapter with my bloody "pickled beginnings." Okay guys! Well, I am getting very, very close to the 40k word mark! celebrations and that means goodness for everyone. I think that the plot might be running a little bit too slow right now and am contemplating speeding it up. So, more dialogue! and less me just letting literary dribble poor out of me! Also, I have a knew soundtrack I am listening to while I write so any changes to style are unintentional and most-likely because of that! ;; Elizabethtown, Vol. 2! Heckyeah! ... _**REVIEW!**_

Thank you new reviewer **"HEYDEPPY"** I too love an evil jack. Jack should be evil!! Pirates?! ARGGGH!

as always, I love you, **"SHADOWCAT!"** your dedication makes my world a happier place! I hope you enjoyed your Disney-goodness.

**Pirate Quote! **_Are you the pirate that I have heard stories about, are not?  
_

**Also. **if you would like to talk to me about the fic, or anything really, I am contactable through PM! --- because it doesn't allow me to enter my MSN! Please, add me. does the feedbackwhore dance

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**H e a r t I n A H e a d l o c k  
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The bronze on the knocker of the largest house in the town square of Nassau Port hadn't gained a single fleck of rust in over five and a half years. It was truly amazing. Lou had to marvel at the beauty of the shiny, reflective surface that shone like the morning sun. She could see her own face, unsmiling, look back at herself. Her hair had been let down to hang loosely in waves and curls about her shoulders. A hat was placed on top of it to keep her eyes and face away from the prying onlookers. Morbid-minded murmurs such as "beggar" and "heathen" sang from the streets, telling her that she did not belong in this town. Who does she think she is? She had heard as she walked past some of the ton with their parasols and high-heeled shoes. Rosalie was behind her, staring at her own feet, and a lovely shade of red; embarrassment, she was simple enough to still have decency, that was surprising. Lou was really quite lucky her friend was on the shorter side, not as curvy as herself, and could pass as a boy… or all of this moving about would have been bloody impossible. They would have stopped every second, probably mistaken as some sort of whores. That was really the only reason girls would be by themselves these days. This town, since about ten years ago, had held a fear of loose females. That's what happens when you are noticed, when someone screws you over. Nassau, a caller behind her declared fresh potatoes and corn available, was where she had earned her alias, "Knives," and had told herself to never return.

Her reflection looked far better than she would have thought it did. Lou had lived in about two feet of space for almost a week, jumped into the ocean and clung to a boat as it carried her to shore, snuck off of said boat and hid amongst the underbelly of the pier until she and Blaze could creep out and around to a small, secluded area they could sundry for a while. It had been a rather fulfilling day already and they hadn't even started. They hadn't even started, and she had already killed seven people. It was rather maddening, actually, how simple it still was to end life in her own aid. Still, now she held two pieces, was at the door of another, but this one would not be as simple as the one she had just taken moments ago. No, the best was, as they say, yet to come. Her hand came up, blocked the mock of her painted out in yellows and browns, and knocked swiftly at the door several times.

KNOCK.

_A slam of a door years and years in the past woke Lou. Her eyes had split open, rushing and churning inside of her head with a worried, wide-eye look, and immediately gone to the door. There her father stood. It was hard to see his face, the way the light was behind him, and he looked much more like a shadow than an actual man. Her mother had told her of shadow men that carried away gold and treasure and immortality from the cities around them, cities like these, but she hadn't ever believed in them. Shadows that could become tangible? That was a laughable idea, the whimsical mutterings of an superstitious Spanish female. Lou was only six and a half, but she knew better than to believe in ghost stories; they had an awful way of disappointing. There was no disappointing glitch in the figure before her. A sliver of fear creep up her spine. The way he stood, eyes like gems glinting in the dim light from the living area, she believed her mother's tales._

_Tightly she closed her eyes and rolled over, prayed that she would be left alone by the man that looked only vaguely like her papa. Under her breath, in a saintly whisper, she prayed the lord's prayer like her mother had told her to always do if she became fearful because of the night. "Padre nuestro, que estás en el cielo. Santificado sea tu nombre. Venga tu rei--" Rough hands began pulling back her covers. Inside she told herself not to fret that it was only her father. His hand were rough because he was a sailor, it hurt your hands, he had always said. Eyes still shut tightly and face pressed into the crease where her pillow stopped and her straw mattress began, Louene didn't want to be pulled from her safety. _

"_Louene, we must go." It was her father. She opened her eyes and sat up in bed, looking him over. There was still something off about him. He looked like he was cold, though a sweat was covering his forehead, and he looked very, very sad. _

KNOCK.

_The night had been warm and as they ran in and out of tall buildings she sweated. The nice dress she had only ever worn but twice was covering her. She didn't understand why they must go so quickly, why she couldn't tell her mother goodbye that night, and where they were going to… It was all very new to her. The stiffness of her dress around her ankles made her feel uncomfortable; she much preferred boys clothes. They were easier to run around in, and the boys didn't make fun of her as much when she looked like one of them. A smile etched on her face as she thought of completely throwing Roberto in the mud earlier. They had all laughed. Dancing in and out of the lamplight, the streets and alleys they darted down completely empty. It seemed impossible to believe that this town was the same as the one she lived in all of the time. _

_They stopped in front of a large building, a building made of black wood that caught the attention of everyone who walked by… the whole town was always so colorful, why was this one shop not? Louene had once asked her Papa what the shop was for, but had never gotten an answer from him. It was full of odd things she had never seen before, some of them beautifully glowing, others dark and pleasing to the eye. Odd clothing, jewelry, clocks, and bobbles, Lou found herself wanting to know the secrets of all of them. Immediately her mouth opened to question her father, ask him what this place and what these things were, but he had told her to be silent. So, she would remain perfectly quiet. _

_Her father had always been much harder on her than her mother had been. He never accepted an excuse, no matter how good or perfectly planned it was. One night, after her father had stormed out to go to the bar and drink away the sorrows of a married man's life, her mother had used the word 'insatiable' to describe him. She hadn't know what it meant then, but had asked her the next week, when she had forgotten about the utterance. When a man is given the world, all he needs, and turns away for it because it isn't good enough. Really, so that her was father? Something in the back of her mind told her that because she wasn't good enough he was like this. If she did everything he told her more perfectly he would be… able to completely accept us. Lou's childlike mind was too young to understand the only person that could change her father's outlook on the word was her father, and that there was nothing she could do to save herself or him._

_The door opened, a very pale man opened the door. His frame was slight and he looked yellow and moldy, like an apple that had sat too long in the air cut in half. Louene looked nervously up at her father, but he wasn't looking back at her, there were no soft expressions for her. He was just looking at the man an angry look on his face. Without knowing what to do Lou did the same, her expression angry but a little confused, fixed upon the awkward-looking man in the door of the Antique shop. Her father took steady, slow steps forward his glance never once going to her; but she followed him, did as an obedient daughter would. Her father must have been afraid to face this man alone, she thought. He had needed someone by his side. Oh, how unfortunate it was to rationalize acts of recklessness and cruelty._

_The words he uttered next, broke her heart. "This is my daughter. I will give you to her, and you will take her from this place. She will settle my debt with you." Her eyes turned wide and shocked. At that moment she knew why her mother had warned her of shadows that stole in the darkness. Her father was no longer her father; he was a tainted soul. This would send him to hell, abandoning her would send him to hell. The face of the man looked more wicked, an apostle of the devil she was sure, than she had ever seen in her entire life. Was there some way to stop all of this? Her dress ruffled in the warm, wet breeze of the ocean. She was only a little girl, only a girl, what could she do to the men twice her height and three times her weight. Completely vulnerable, it was hell to feel vulnerable. _

"_P- Papa?" Lou had never stuttered before in her life. He was not moved, did not answer, and she was taken away from the first and only home she had ever known. By shadow men. Her life had been stolen by men who were shadows; treasure and immortality had been taken and hidden, and she had been wont to find it since. _

KNOCK.

"_Girl! Girl, where is my whiskey. Where have you hidden it, ye bloody tramp?! WHORE WHERE ARE YOU! WHERE HAVE YOU. I WILL FIND YOU." The old man, god he was so old hair was coming out of his nose but no where else, stumbled around drunkenly and tried to reach her. His son had gone out for the evening, so she wasn't going to just sit there and allow him to get so drunk he passed out and pissed himself again. Who had to clean all of that stuff up? Lou wrinkled her nose at the very thought of it, but did not come out of her hiding place. The whiskey bottle was inside of a dollhouse he had given her as a present. "I will find ye, ye bloody strumpet." All of his presents were tainted though. An old perverted man who used her as a slave wasn't really showing her affection with such things, no… he was trying to keep her quiet. Her clothes were very fancy, jewels were all over her porcelain dolls, but she had never desired such things. All of her requests to go out and play and to have boys play clothes were laughed at… he had always been a cruel fool._

_When she had arrived her years ago it was because this man, her 'daddy' had lost his real daughter to a bout of yellow fever. The plague had spread over the entire island where he had lived and the merchant hadn't been able to leave until the epidemic had already done it's damage on his family. His wife's most precious thing, her daughter, had passed away, and she had lost her mind to madness due to the pain inside. Not even the life of her son mattered to her. It was really by chance that Lou's father had been given no other choice at that moment by the sirs company in Tortuga. Rivera had pleaded for anyway to settle his debt, to save his own life. Somehow she had gotten thrown into the mix and had been bartered away. Of course, his wife hadn't lived more than a year after she had arrived, but for some reason, she hadn't been discarded. _

_Maybe even he believed that she was Angelina now, but Louene remembered her own name, the name her mother had given her. Louene Rivera. One day, she was determined, people like this, people who lived in such debauchery would pay. "WHERE IS MY WHISKE--!" Although she had covered her ears to not be able to hear him, she still did. Her eyes were closed so tightly that she could see little dots through the black. Her breath came in shallow gasps, afraid to breath to deeply to be discovered and punished. She heard his wild scream and the fire of a pistol that had cut him off mid-drunken rage. _

_BOOM! Another shot was fired. One of her eyes cracked open. There was a thin stream of light coming through a crack in the door jam. She had cut out he tiny sliver of wood herself with a butcher knife she had stolen from the kitchen while the cooks and maids weren't looking. It had been a grand adventure. The first grand adventure of the only female pirate captain to ever sail the seas, Captain Louene Rivera. It was her only wish, to sail the sea as her father had, and to ruin people like those that she lived with. Then when she had enough money to buy everything her mother ever wanted, then she would return and be the best daughter she could ever be. Pressing her eye up to the peephole and forcing her breath to a decibel so low she barely felt the oxygen, Lou allowed curiosity to get the best of her. _

_She hadn't wanted to see this… not this kind of bloodshed. Every fiber of sense she had told her to be quiet, but she screamed. Shrieked. As loud as she could. Her captor's blood was all over the floor. His head was on the other side of the room, separated from his body, and she was screaming like the little girl she was. The door to her closet was thrown open a moment later. A hatchet was in her face. She would feel the blood fall off of the end and splatter on her arm. "Cap'n! I found a girl, what'cha want I should do wiff her?" An old man with a snow white hair that dripped down his back in a long, tight braid appeared before her, pulling the other man out of the way. He looked at her hard, thinking it over. _

_It seemed like he had a plan, there was a gleam in his cloudy, film-covered eyes. He knew something that she did not, he saw with eyes unseeing. "You are 'is child, then?" There was a choice to make, play the noble and hope she was left alone… or, or she could play the savage and attempt to win their sympathies and thus her own. This was her moment to change her own destiny, this was opportunity to stand and fight for what she believed._

_Shaky legs forced her up, to stand in front of the man. He was a pirate, every bone in her gut echoed that he was to be feared. The despite the fact that he looked like a harmless old man, he could take her at any moment and force her head from her neck. Brake her in two, like a reed in shallows. "I- I am not of 'is blood, sir. My father gave me to 'im to settle 'is debts. I 'ate these people; they 'ave used me, Sir, and I but meant to be free. To sail as my father before me did, and I will make all of these fools pay for their cruelty and debauchery." A few men behind Ghost Conurei just laughed at her. This little girl, not over twelve, was telling them of how she would make these people, beyond even their touch, pay for their wrongs. It was surely laughable. They almost felt bad for the girl, because Ghost was surely about to kill her, end her like the old man. It was easier when no one saw. They could float in, steal what they needed from the citizens, and then retreat to where their home was, out on the sea. _

_The laughter didn't make Lou fear though, her eyes were still fixed on the Captain before her. He was all that mattered; he was who controlled her life like the swing of a cabin door. "Ye sound quite like a pirate, gel, for one so young and so frilly." His knees bent and in a smooth, graceful motion he dipped into a squat, taking a closer look at her, obviously. She took strong steps, despite her palpable fear of this man before her, and accepted his outstretched hand. He smiled cheekily at her, and his voice dropped down to a low volume. "Do ye know 'ow to cook, gel?" In his eyes as a promise of something more, something she could not like to…_

"_Yes, my mama taught me." He nodded and lifted back up, standing with a strict power in his shoulders. All of the men quieted. _

"_She be comin' with us, gents. We been needin' a new kitchen hand. And, just so ye know it, if a sliver of 'arm befall he I will be more'an enough to slit the entire crew's puny throats." There was fire in his eyes. She could feel it burning, scorching her face. No man had ever cared enough for her, not like this; is that what a father was supposed to be? Father. This was her new father. Edmunde Conurei. Feared and glorious, she was determined to become just like him one day._

KNOCK!KNOCK.

Somehow she found herself in front of this beautiful brass knocker again. Rosalie behind her, eyes waiting for some explanation to why her eyes had glazed over. To why her knocks had been so furious, but there was no answer for the girl. The door pulled in, without so much of a creek, falling back on itself and instead of the door came a footman. He was tall, one of those fancy wigs on his head. So, they were still pretending to belong to the ton. Lou paid no mind to the way he looked at her, like she was below to the family of urchin that lived beneath one's shoes or between people's toes. "I believe you have the wrong hou-" His voice, deep and haughty, was more than enough to get her riled up. Lou's glare hadn't silenced him though. It had been her hand, reaching out and snapping her joints around his clean, white cravat. Everything on her body, she herself, was more dirty than that single, white piece of cloth.

Lou smiled at him wickedly and said the words that she had been dying for someone to understand for years. "By Those. Who Bleach. The Bones. Of their Brothers." Every word was a bite, a chunk she was ripping from her to make her spirit clean. It was therapeutics, and she felt alive… Alive and very, very wanton. "And return those animals to their wives." She forced by the wide-eyed footman. He didn't want to believe that her kind still existed. No, she was supposed to be a relic, to be dead. It had been five years since he had ever seen these dangerous people. He stuttered 'L' unable to actually say her name, while Lou helped Rosalie over the threshold.

"Where is he?" She ordered, demanded he answer her with the mere tone of her voice, but he seemed unable. His face was white; his lips moving without sound, while he clung desperately to the banister no where else to run from her. It only took a few moments with her sea-colored eyes glaring at him for the boy to crack; he pointed, babbling senselessly, towards to large double-doors made of a fine chestnut-colored wood. Hidden behind the grandest of doors. Lou's boots clipped on the hardwood floor moving towards the study of this manor. A house she had once lived in, dozens of years ago, for a summer or two.

A carefree smile graced her lips, making Rosalie feel incredibly uncomfortable. When Lou smiled it generally meant that things were about to get violent, blood-showing violence. Although Blaze had never before fancied herself a naïve person, this harshness, roughness wasn't supposed to be in the world, directly in front of her eyes. The way Lou stalked down the hallway was rather like the way she imagined a wild cat. It wasn't very large, no it was small compared to most animals that could inflict great harm, and it looked very slim and sleek and beautiful. The way Lou's body flowed from one limb to her torso to the other was the very example of bronzed, natural perfection, but still she looked like nothing very fearsome. However, when she was stalking down her prey, moving so fluidly she must have been blessed by Poseidon himself, a sliver of fear would crawl up your spine and you would wonder at your own reaction to her. A wild cat, untamable, Lou was here to slice down one more foe with lightning claws.

They reached the doors; Lou spread her fingers and stretched towards the knob, but it flung out. She stumbled a few steps backwards. Everything seemed to slow down for a while.

A man was standing before Lou, and Rosalie who was half-hidden behind her. This man's hair was white and done in a long braid down his back. It must have been a meter and a half in length at least. Angry, his expression was very angry. Eyes like his, the brightest blue ever imagined, so blue it looked almost white, weren't meant for anger, but he held more of it than Rosalie had ever seen in her entire life. The only thing that took away from the man's fair, gentlemanly appeal was the long scar running from the middle of his forehead, over his right eye, and to the base of his cheek. This was just all too much, again. Rosalie felt herself drop into the hollow of shock. Lou didn't look surprised at all, though. Not even at the pistol held in her face; not at the way that he moved closer to her, brining the gun just out of her reach, but pointed straight at her heart; and not at the long, deep, dreadfully foreboding chuckle that left him as he eyed the once-again pirate.

"So, you've finally decided you're finished playing barmaid, Lou's." Snake-eye. Rosalie let all of the air in her rush out. It was so hard to take experiencing legends. This man. He had been the one who ruined the greatest, and only famous really, female pirate who would even live; this man had stolen her friend's fortune; this man had stolen her crew. Why had Louene brought her here? Rosalie just couldn't understand anything that the woman did, all of her choices looked, at first, like they were made by someone who was bloody daft. Rosalie shot Lou a confused look, but her eyes were on the man in front of her. Fear took root in the dancer's belly, this was the very first time she had ever seen Louene look unraveled.

She was unraveled. Jason Conurei shouldn't have known where she was. Suddenly she felt unsure of the playing ground. Normally, -- well, always, she was the one in control, calling the shots. Why hadn't he come? Why was she still alive and safe and here to threaten his life. A big man came and grabbed her from behind, but she didn't resist. "If you knew, then why didn't you come kill me like ye did me crew?" Her voice was quiet; her eyes were asking from answers, asking permission to continue living. Louene Rivera wasn't supposed to ask permission; She was supposed to bring pain whenever possible. Her knives lay dormant, her hand's didn't even go for them as she began to be pulled away. One of his men must have seen the happenings at the dock, sent word while she was on the Pearl. They tried to pull her out of the room, but Lou shrugged out of his grip, anger setting fire to action. The flames and pains licked at the wounds long kept open inside of her. The man went to grab her arm again, but she took a step closer to the gun in her face. "Answer. Give me a bloody answer, Jason." Lou's breathing was hard and shallow, her eyes were fixed and refusing to blink; she looked like a goddess, here to smite the wicked.

Jason "Snake-Eye" Conurei smiled, but the gun didn't move an inch, it was still pointed at her heart. He was a smart man; after all, Rosalie had seen what she had done in the kitchen to that man in a matter of seconds. It was definitely a stupid thing to lower your guard around Lou. She held no warmth or regard for fair-play when it came to death. "Where is the fun of a making a dead person eat a dead heart, luv? I need you alive, full and well, to appreciate your death. I knew you'd come." A flash of insanity ran through his eyes. It was a glimmer of all things ill and disgusting. The entire room felt the hair on the back of their necks stand at attention.

The bodyguard appeared behind Lou again. He grabbed her arm, just above the elbow, and began dragging her off. She never let her eyes turn away from Jason. There was a distrust, an edge, and something more. Rosalie wondered why? Why had the Ghost's crew turned on themselves when they could have taken any other ship they wanted? That, however, was a question far too personal to ask either of these two people, so Rosalie kept it to herself.

Another man, not quite a buff though, went for Rosalie. He tried to begin to pull her away, but she wasn't going to be lead, like Lou, to the slaughter. She'd be damned if she died here and now for her friend's past transgressions. "Parlay!" The guy holding her looked at her like she had just grown a pair of extra ears. It was one of those, I-was-not-expecting-that looks. Although, his quite hilarious look was lost on Rosalie, because her eyes were on Snake-Eye. He was sort of like a Captain, right? Her father had always told her that if she had ever fallen ill to pirates (he had always had a huge fear of that) to say parlay and do her best to appeal to the Captain of the ship.

Conurei rolled his eyes at the request, after all, the girl could have just left the code out of it and been heard. She was only a few feet away from him anyway. "Very well, gel, ye've invoked the rite of parlay, so ye may speak." Rosalie freed her arm from the lax grip of her captor and neared the Captain. He had dropped the gun now that Lou had left the room.

"Thank ye kindly. E'Louene," Conurei smiled in a mocking way, obviously pleased to hear her fake name. "took me from Tortuga as a human shield. I be no use to yeh and ye be no use to me, so why don't yeh just let me walk out the door. I'll be out of yer hair, and you would loose naught that holds value." She finished with a very polite smile. Appealing to the Captain, she had no idea what her father exactly meant, but figured it had to be something about like this. He dressed a gentleman, so perhaps he really was… would let her free just out of the good of his heart.

"Nice try." Apparently, there was no goodness in his heart. "Now, what is the real reason that Lou has brought a dancer with her on such an escapade." A terrible feeling of déjà vu raged inside of Rosalie. He stepped closer and for a second his face flickered out, Jack was in Jason Conurei's place, and he was about to carve out flesh from her collarbone.

Lou was pulled to the attic of the nice, Italian-styled home. No one, from the outside, would ever expect the white building with fine black-timber accents would ever be home to such a chamber. Here the walls weren't exposed, brick and mud piled several layers thick to keep all light and sound out… and in. It was for torture, for interrogation, and for death; the warm air made the smell of blood unbearable, and the flies in the room swarmed around the few candles in the room. She let her eyes take in the entire room. Two cages, both had one form in each, two more guards other than the one holding her; dim light, multiple weapons on the side of the walls. Yes, this was a room meant for pain and for words spoken through metallic tastes and last breaths; however, this type of room was nothing new for her. Actually, she was quite surprised not to find rotting corpses or huge amounts of short, creepy men that laugh funny. Those generally ran rampant in this type of scenery.

One of the guards stood up and was barely over four foot six. He fixed an excited, bug-eyed stare on Lou, and she hated every fiber of herself for allowing her thoughts to jinx her. With everything but a skip in his step he walked towards her, his grubby little hands tugging at the bottom of his very, very bloodstained tunic. Lou almost grimaced at the look of him, but instead just remained in the more typical stone-faced expression waiting for him to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do to her. The glinting of the candlelight off of the cat-of-nine-tales behind him reminded her just how much control she didn't have over what was about to happen. She could have fought, downstairs, pulled out a knife, killed maybe one of the guards, before getting shot down by the entire island's best sharpshooter. It would have been a gamble, and it was possible that Lou could have one, but she didn't like those kind of odds. No, she liked odds when she knew she would win. Those were the best kind, in her opinion. "Her weapons have been removed?" A high-pitched, wheezy voice that echoed more than it should have rang through the air. Lou very possibly could have winced that time.

All the guard did was nod, thrust her toward the obvious leader, turn and leave. She really, really wished she could follow him but, unfortunately, that wasn't going to be allowed quite that easily. He grabbed her wrist, and she wanted very much to cut his slimy hand off. Moments later a cell was unlocked, the cell on the right side, farthest from the door, and she was quite literally thrown into it. Lou had gotten thrown quite too much today. She was about to kill whoever did it next time with a bloody… pebble or something. A part of her found that idea incredibly funny and another part told her she was losing her mind because she was so close to him. He infected her, made her lose her edge; he was sort of like the personification of weakness for her. It wasn't really fair that he was also her only real enemy either. Well, she did have a few others, but they posed absolutely no _threat_ Jason definitely did.

Stumbling into the cell wouldn't have normally been a problem. Pirates, all sailors for that fact, have this impeccable ability to right themselves after any stumble, due to far too much practice on ships; however, more happened in that instant she was thrown inside of the cell. Her head suddenly light from emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion (She hadn't slept on the Pearl due to paranoia of being discovered), decided to swim in the sea of her thoughts. She could feel her consciousness just slipping away. This place was safe for a while. This empty cell would be her home. A part of her knew she was falling, tried to grab onto something near and save herself a head injury, but there was nothing but air. Her hands waved, fingers tense with need, to find anything around her, trying to stop her own inevitable collapse, but found nothing. Nothing. Blackness reigned and she felt herself fade.

She could smell the sea, breath it in with every deep inhale she took. It's waves were soft and all around her. Her face was warm, the wind -- like breath -- bathing over her features and filling her with even more of the briny. There was more than salt and water though, there was also the taste of rum, it was almost in her mouth. She could smell it. Warm, safety, the ocean all around her. A part of her realized that she must have died. Lou tried to remember how she could have died, ended up in such bliss. Her arms wrapped tighter around the substance of the water, held it to herself, and prayed that this time would never leave. How long had it been since she had allowed herself to relax? A noise, a murmur of waves deep in the back of her mind, made her forget. She focused just on that moment, held all of the wonderful feelings that moment had to offer and just lived. It was a beautiful thing to not think, to just fall off the face of the earth.

"Lou Rivera."

The voice was deep, scratchy almost as if it hadn't been used in a long time. She tried to remember the word that they used to describe a voice like that. It reminded her of the black seas and fine silk; of prized tobacco and aged rum; it reminded her of someone she couldn't remember, but she couldn't forget. A soft sigh left her lips, she sucked in more of the sea. "Lou." The voice became insistent. Husky…. The husky voice became insistent. She felt bad to deny him her full attention, but she couldn't see him. All there was -- white and black -- she could perceive, but Lou couldn't determine where he was coming from. "… Lou!" Her eyes shot open, and it took her a many moments to see and many more to understand what she was seeing. His eyes were black, staring down into her own. She had her torso tossed across his own in the small cell, her arms were about him, and she seemed to know who this man was. The silly dual-braided-beard, the way his crooked smile showed off at least four gold teeth, and the kohl ink about his eyes.

Lou knew whose torso she was so casually wrapped around. He was her tormentor, of sorts; he was the reason all of this had gone so completely, gloriously wrong. Perhaps he wasn't the only reason, but he was definitely a contributing factor. "Although, I can't say I didn't enjoy ye droppin' in, luv. Would ye mind situating' a touch bit more uniformly, I think my leg has fallin' ill to your affects." The way he was grinning made her feel rather like a piece of meat, or like a sheep about to go into the slaughter house. Lou immediately decided that she hated this man, this Jack Sparrow, with every fiber of her being. He was a no good, an utterly deplorable pirate, and would hopefully never leave these cells alive.

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**A/N: **Remeber!! **REVIEW!** and something else to remember. **REVIEW!!!** and a third thing! **I am looking for a new beta.** Thanks for reading guys! 

**Thanks: **This will start to be personalized, due to the fact that ... it's a rule. CHECK YOUR PM BOX, TOO!

paineAPPLE


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